Cursed
by The Scene
Summary: Bellatrix laughed. "You are not blessed, little girl,” she spat, “you’re cursed. I, I admit, was skeptical. How could two filthy little mudbloods such as yourselves be of any use to the Dark Lord? But, once again, he was right and I was wrong."
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Welcome to my fantasy world! This story, or saga, as I lovingly refer to it, is my dear child. I have only one request of you, my readers. Please remember, as you read, the number one rule of the magical universe of Harry Potter: **things are _not_ as they seem. **

All reviews are greatly appreciated, but please, make your criticism constructive.

**Disclaimer:** The magnificent world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and not myself. I am in possession of solely the characters I have created and the non-canon situations I have placed them in.

_**Cursed**_

**Prologue**

_August 4th, 2007-_

Two loud cracking noises rang through the Scottish countryside. Birds scattered away from the source, and the peaceful serenity of the area momentarily dissipated.

Two men had suddenly appeared, the casual observer would assume, out of thin air. One of the men, slightly shorter than the other, with graying light brown hair, a worn, tired face, and warm golden eyes said, "I suppose this is it."

The other man, with unruly black hair partly covering a peculiar, lighting-shaped scar, surveyed the area with striking emerald eyes behind stylish, wire-framed glasses. "I like it," he stated. "Nice and peaceful. She live here?"

"I would assume so," the other man replied. He too surveyed the area around him. "Oh, I see it. Over there." He pointed to a cluster of trees which, upon closer examination, hid a small, homey-looking cottage.

"Well," the black-haired man sighed. "I suppose we should get this over with." The pair began to walk toward the quaint home.

"I don't know why you insisted I come with you," the black-haired man said sourly.

The other man sighed exasperatedly, as though they had been over this subject many times before. "Well, I didn't want to go alone," he said somewhat brusquely. "And out of all the Order you knew Rose the best."

"Remus," The man replied impatiently. "I barely knew her at all! The only ones that really knew her were—"

"Aislinn and Raleigh?" The man called Remus supplied heatedly, causing the other man to lower his head and stare awkwardly down at his feet. "They're obviously in no condition to complete the task at hand."

"I'm sorry," the black-haired man replied grimly. "It's just—I hate doing this kind of thing. It's worse than the actual fighting."

"Well, Harry," Remus sighed, not out of exasperation, it seemed, but tiredness. "It was either you or Ron. And Ron has enough on his plate right now."

"Oh," said Harry, with a tinge of guilt in his voice. "Well… why not Hermione?" he added with a suggestion of false hope.

Remus chuckled slightly. "I don't think this kind of situation is her strong suit," he replied as if Harry should know this.

"Yeah," Harry said, half laughing. "She's a little too straight-forward to be… _tact_, I suppose."

They approached the cottage and Remus timidly raised his hand to the knocker and knocked three times. They waited a few moments.

"Well," Harry said hastily. "She's not here. What a pity—now let's go." He quickly turned around but was stopped by Remus, who laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Give her a moment," Remus said. "I think I hear footsteps."

The door creaked open halfway. A middle-aged woman with mousy, graying hair pulled back into a loose bun and cold, stern eyes stood leering at the two men in her doorway.

"Er—hello," said Harry a bit awkwardly.

"Are you Miss Finvarra Macarthur?" Remus asked gently, eyeing the woman with concern.

"Who wants to know?" Miss Macarthur asked disdainfully, looking at Harry and Remus with obvious premature contempt.

"Forgive me, Madam," said Remus charmingly. "My name is Remus Lupin, and this is Harry Potter." The woman scoffed slightly but Remus chose to ignore it. "We're from the Order of the Phoenix, an organization who worked against the reign of the Dark Lord. We… we were good friends of your daughter, Rose; she was a lovely woman. And we regret to inform you of her passing—"

Miss Macarthur laughed harshly. "I've had children play pranks on me before, but I would expect better from two grown men such as yourselves." She paused a moment and smiled mockingly at Harry. "Especially if one of them is _Harry Potter_."

"Madam," Remus interjected quickly, obviously sensing Harry's rapidly growing indignation. "I'm very sorry, but this is no joke. Your daughter… she died bravely…"

Miss Macarthur laughed harshly once more. "Nice try, but I suggest the next time you try to pull off a stunt like this you find someone who actually _has_ a daughter. Good day." Harry blanched as Finvarra Macarthur's door was slammed in their faces.

Remus blinked. "Well… that was certainly not the reaction I was expecting."

* * *

_October 12, 2031- _

It was all over, Hermione realized. That was what she had been telling herself for the past two months, but somehow, she kept on forgetting. For as long as she could remember her life had been leading up to that one climax, that one pivotal moment… and now… it was over? The idea was almost unfathomable. What were they supposed to do now? Lead boring lives with nice, Victorian homes and white-picket fences? Poor Harry would be bored out of his skull! The thought almost brought a smile to her lips. Almost. But not quite.

And as much as she wished it possible, they just couldn't go back to their own home, resume activities normally—there were simply too many memories. And plus, the house was just too big for her and Harry to live in by themselves. Aiden had been the last to move out a few years ago, and even if there had been no war and the house didn't hold heart-wrenching memories, it was time to move on.

There had been a picture on the mantel in their living room. It had been one of Hermione's favorites. The whole family—all five of them—waving furiously up at her every time she glanced at it. It used to make her so happy, having it there; it used to lift her spirits.

She couldn't stand to look at that picture anymore. It's amazing how things change.

She closed her eyes and remembered back to when the photograph had been taken. There was Kris, only fifteen at the time; beautiful, clever, confidant… everything Hermione had always wanted to be when she was a girl, everything Hermione could have wanted for her.

Then there was Shane. Also just fifteen when the picture was taken. A lot like Hermione, Harry had often said. Hermione had secretly disagreed. He was smart, yes, and he always had his nose in a book, but in every other aspect he was just like Harry. Noble, generous, kind, and a temper Hermione knew for a _fact_ that was inherited from his father.

And then there was Aiden. Sweet, shy, subtly mischievous Aiden. He had only been eleven when the picture was taken, about to turn twelve. He looked much like Harry, except his jet-black hair was longer and _slightly_ tamer than his father's, and his eyes were deep brown and not obscured by glasses. It amused Hermione to no end how Aiden had always abhorred flying, while Kris and Shane, especially Kris, thrived on it.

"I'm perfectly happy with my feet firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much," he had said on occasion.

It never ceased to amaze Hermione how much he had grown up over the years. How much they had _all_ grown up. _But_, she thought with a wistful sigh, _that's what's supposed to happen_. Now, having your children live out their youths in the midst of a terrible war… that _wasn't_ supposed to happen.

Hermione looked around the living room, searching for knick-knacks she had not yet packed away in a cardboard box. Moving was inevitable, she kept telling herself.

It was a heartbreaking thing, packing up memories in a box like she was doing now. She walked warily over to the mantel where the picture she had avoided looking at for so long stood. She suddenly felt a familiar lump building in her throat. Funny how little things like simple photographs can trigger one's emotions to such an astonishing degree. There were many pictures of her family scattered around the house, yet somehow, this one had that peculiar affect on her.

She didn't have the heart to throw it away. It would be like throwing old memories away. And it wasn't like she didn't _want_ those old memories, she just wanted to… hide them for awhile. Like the picture. She wrapped it in newspaper and set it gently into the cardboard box she was currently filling. Someday she would be ready.

_If it hadn't been for that damned war_… she sighed. She shouldn't spend her time lingering on the "what ifs," she knew. But still, she always wondered what would have happened if she hadn't found that notebook…

She shook her head. In no possible reality could she have _not_ found the notebook. She knew enough about the course of time to understand that aspect now in full.

Once, a month or so ago, Harry had found her sobbing in their bedroom. He hadn't asked her what was wrong. He had merely wrapped his arms around her and cried with her. He thought he understood.

But he didn't know the half of it.


	2. Les Mensonges qu'Ils Ont Dits

**Author's Note: **I do not speak French, but the chapter title is supposed to transltate roughly into "The Lies They Told."

**Disclaimer:** See prologue.

_**Cursed**_

**Part One**

Chapter One: "_Les Mensonges qu'Ils Ont Dits_"

_September 1st, 1996-_

16-year-old Harry Potter chuckled softly as his best friend's stomach growled. Ron Weasley moaned and whispered angrily, "How long does it take to Sort those stupid gits?"

"What, Ron?" Harry asked, feigning horror. "Not enjoying the ceremony?" Ron sneered at this.

"Shh!" hissed the prefect Hermione Granger, who was watching the Sorting Ceremony ever so intently. Harry noticed her face had gained a puzzled expression and he queried, "What's wrong?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking those two girls must be the new students from Beauxbatons." She needn't point them out, Harry realized. They were standing a head above all the first years. "They certainly look older than eleven-year-olds," Hermione continued unnecessarily. "I believe Dumbledore said they're entering sixth year, like us…" Harry had the distinct impression that she was now talking to herself rather than him.

"New students?" Harry whispered, confused. "We have new students? How do you know about that?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly, "Yes. They're sisters. Professor Dumbledore told all of us prefects," she whispered back, with a subtle air of importance at the word "prefect" that Harry couldn't fail to notice. "So we can be, oh… I'll tell you later, Harry, now shush."

After a few more minutes, the two girls that Hermione had pointed out were the only ones still standing, waiting to be sorted.

"Rollins, Elita," Professor McGonagall called. One of the girls walked up and sat confidently on the stool. Harry admired her for it; he remembered the day he had been sorted and recalled what a nervous wreck he had been. He studied the girl—Elita—carefully. She had long, somewhat-straggly, waist-length dark brown hair and he saw large brown eyes for a moment before they disappeared behind the large hat.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat bellowed after only a moment's pause. Harry and the others at the Gryffindor table proceeded to applaud and, in Seamus's case, catcall. Harry laughed as Lavender slapped the boy angrily on the arm. Elita trotted off the stage and plopped herself down into an empty seat next to Hermione. Harry smiled to himself as he looked from Hermione to Elita. The poor girl didn't know what she was in for.

"Rollins, Kali." The other girl walked gracefully up to the stool. Harry shuddered involuntarily. The way the girl walked, almost gliding, reminded him forcefully of Malfoy. He shook it off. She looked remarkably similar to her sister, although her hair was cropped to her shoulders and instead of brown, her eyes were a cold, pale blue. Considering Hermione had said the two were both in their sixth year, Harry assumed they were twins. _Great_, Harry thought to himself, half laughing, _more twins_.

"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat exclaimed. Harry was a little embarrassed to admit that he was somewhat relieved the girl had not been made a Gryffindor like her sister. The new student—Kali—seemed a little too intense for his liking, and he had to deal with enough intensity in his life already.

The whispers in the hall abruptly died as Albus Dumbledore stood from his seat at the staff table. "Ah," he spoke, so all the hall could hear him. "Another year at Hogwarts has begun. Welcome! I have a few start-of-term announcements, but I'll try not to be too pompously long-winded, as I am sure the lot of you are famished after your long train ride. If there are any inquiries regarding the rules, I suggest you see the list posted on Mr. Filch, our caretaker's, door. I would like to remind returning students, and inform new ones, that the Dark Forrest is strictly off limits to _all_ pupils. On a lighter note, however, I would like to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Rose Macarthur." There was a broken, seemingly cautious applause, and Harry couldn't exactly blame the students for not being enthusiastic; given the history of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, there was bound to be something wrong with this Professor Macarthur. But she looked nice enough, Harry reasoned. She was very young, no older than twenty-six or twenty-seven. She had short, straggly blonde hair that framed a cherubic face. At the applause, Professor Macarthur halfway stood up from her seat at the staff table and gave a small, timid wave and a shy smile before sitting down again.

"Yes, welcome, Professor. I also request," Dumbledore continued. "That you welcome our two new students from Beauxbatons, Kali and Elita Rollins. Please make them feel at home and treat them as you would any other classmate." Harry noticed Malfoy smirk from across the Great Hall. "Well, I'm sure you do not wish to continue to listen to the ramblings of an old man, so—tuck in!" Food of every sort suddenly appeared in front of them. The Gryffindors in particular made a show of who could get to which food the fastest, which resulted in chaos. Harry smiled. He was home.

* * *

"So, you and your sister are from France?" Hermione queried interestedly to Elita, who was more focused on eating her Jell-O at the moment than answering questions. 

"Yes, we _did_ go to Beauxbatons," she replied smartly.

"Well, I would think you would speak French, or at least have a French accent," Hermione continued thoughtfully. Harry, who was seated across from Hermione eating the remains of his apple pie, raised his eyebrows at this and looked to Elita for her response.

Elita faltered for a moment, but quickly regained her composure. "Well, we used to live in London, up until we were eleven, when our parents separated. We…" her eyes darted around quickly. She immediately regretted this, and prayed that no one had noticed. "We went to live with our mother in France, who taught us the language. But sadly, she passed away not too long ago. So my sister and I came to live here, with our father." _Perfect_, Elita thought. _A sob story_. If Hermione thought it would drudge up painful memories, Elita believed that she would be tactful enough not to mention it. At least she _hoped_ she would be.

"I see," Hermione replied. "I'm terribly sorry about your mother, that must have been a dreadful loss," she sympathized.

"It was," Elita agreed. "We try not to talk about it much." Elita wondered if she was laying it on a little thick. No, she decided. Not even _Hermione_ could guess their real story.

"Oh, of course," Hermione said. She ventured onto another subject, "You'll love it in Gryffindor. There are plenty of nice people here, I'm sure you'll make friends fast."

"Speaking of friends," Elita said mischievously. She looked around at Harry who was currently having some heated debate with a round-faced boy whom Elita assumed must be Neville Longbottom. "Harry seems nice."

"He is," Hermione agreed absentmindedly.

"I'm rather fond of him already." She looked at Hermione slyly and raised her eyebrows questioningly, "You are too, I assume?"

"Fond of Harry? Oh, of course, he's one of my best—" Hermione's brown eyes suddenly grew wide with comprehension. "Oh no! Harry's like my brother! He'd never—I'd never—_we'd _never—"

"All right, all right," Elita cut in hastily, almost laughing. "You don't fancy Harry, I get it." Elita knew she _sounded_ convincing, but, as Kali loved to point out, she had always been a terrible actress. Her face gave her away, she could tell by the suspicious look in Hermione's eyes. _You've got to keep to your own business_, Elita told herself. She knew very well that Hermione was _not_ a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

"How are you holding up?" Elita asked. She had managed to snag a moment alone with her sister at breakfast the following morning. She ran over to the Ravenclaw table, eager to escape Hermione's further questions about her past life in France. 

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Kali sighed. "Say, do you know when the next Hogsmeade weekend is?"

"A couple of weeks, I think." She surveyed Kali questioningly. "Why?"

"Because that's when we get our books," said Kali dismissively.

"Leave it to you to think of books at a time like this! And besides, we can't go anyway. No permission slips, remember?" She said smugly, impressed she had thought of something her sister hadn't.

"_We're_ not going, you prat. McGonagall is, I think. I asked Dumbledore last night about what we would do about getting school supplies in our current… _situation_. She's not going to Hogsmeade anyway, she's going to Diagon Alley. It's just that Hogsmeade weekends are the only time she can go considering that's the only time there're hardly any students in the castle. I told her we wouldn't be able to afford cauldrons and books and things like that and, well, Dumbledore said he'd take care of everything when I talked to him the other day…" she trailed off gloomily.

Elita grinned. "Oh, _do_ lighten up, sis!"

Kali blinked. "'Lighten up'?" She shook her head in disbelief. "That's not going to happen."

"Don't I know it," Elita agreed in an undertone.

"Elita! What do you expect me to do? Take this all in stride? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but that isn't going to be happening any time soon," she hissed.

"Well being all broody certainly isn't going to help us," Elita said, folding her arms defiantly.

"I'm not broody," Kali muttered, sounding halfway hurt. "I'm pensive." She paused before adding, "It's not like you can blame me! We might be stuck here forever! We might never see our friends and family again!"

"Broody—pensive—whatever, the fact remains that we're not going to get anywhere unless we're… _optimistic_," she said, taking a large bite of her French toast.

"And what if we don't 'get anywhere' at all?" Kali countered.

"Sorry?" Elita asked, brow furrowed.

"What if we can't get back? You can't seem to control that bloody 'gift' of yours—what if we're stuck here? Have you even thought about that?"

"No. You do quite enough thinking for the both of us." Kali sighed exasperatedly at this and smacked her hand on her forehead and rubbed it wearily. Elita groaned. "Stop being so… _negative_! We're _not_ going to be stuck here, Kal!" Elita protested enthusiastically. "I've always gotten us back before, haven't I?" Kali looked down guiltily at her plate. "We're here for a reason, I know it!"

The two paused for a moment. Kali began to pick halfheartedly at a piece of bacon.

Elita looked over to the staff table distractedly. "Hey—does that Professor Macarthur person look familiar to you?"

Kali rolled her eyes once again, something she clearly loved to do when Elita was around. She exclaimed sarcastically, "Oh, yes! Perhaps she's a friend of ours! Gone back in time from the future to save us from a dire fate, no doubt!" She waved her hands around theatrically.

"No, I was just thinking that she looks kind of like Skye. You know… I think it might be that aunt of hers—because I heard she taught at Hogwarts while Harry Potter was still at school."

"Which aunt?" Kali asked.

"Her mother's half-sister! The only aunt she's ever had! Rhea or Rose or something—yes, it's Rose, I remember now. Honestly, Kal! You pay so much attention to your books I don't understand why you can't pay more attention to your friends."

Kali ignored this comment and looked up to the staff table to study Professor Macarthur quietly. "You know, you might be right. Skye _does_ look an awful lot like her." She sighed sadly. "I wish she could be here to meet her. I can't imagine going through life without a mother figure…" she began to pick at her piece of bacon once again. "Has Hermione already started finding flaws in our brilliant cover-story?" Kali asked abruptly, suddenly smug.

Elita looked up sharply. "How did you know?"

Kali chuckled. "Call it… divination."

Elita grimaced. "Damn! I _hate_ it when you do that!" She paused. "You're right, though. But I think I did some pretty decent improvisation," she finished brightly.

Kali scoffed. "You? Act?"

"Well… not so much acting as it is… _storytelling_. Oh, and be prepared—she thinks our mother's dead."

Kali stared blankly at her sister. "And why don't you tell her we used to live on a farm with pink polka-dotted kneazles while you're at it?"

"No, this was relevant. She asked why we didn't have French accents and I told her that we used to live in England, but when our parents separated we moved to France. And now we've moved back here to live with our father because our mother died."

"How nice and morbid. Sounds like a bloody Muggle soap opera," Kali commented dryly.

"I had to tell her _something_," Elita argued. "It was the first thing that popped into my mind. But… I suppose morbidity is in my nature. At least she bought it."

"We wouldn't have had this problem if Shane was here…" Kali said dreamily. Elita almost laughed. It was uncanny how Kali lost all of her wiliness and sense of self when it came to Shane. But he was a good guy, so Elita supposed it was all right for her sister to go a little weak-kneed over him.

"Wow, Miss Feminist actually _needs_ her boyfriend?" Elita asked in mock surprise in spite of herself, placing her hand in front of her mouth. "Color me shocked."

"He just seems to be a lot better at this Master Plan-Making thing than we are," Kali said sensibly, pretending that that was the only reason she cared. "He thinks of everything."

Elita glanced over her shoulder at Hermione, "And now I know where he gets it from."


	3. Fortunate Mistakes

**Author's Note and Disclaimer:** See prologue.

Chapter Two: "Fortunate Mistakes"

_October 3rd, 2021-_

Kristina Potter watched sadly as her twin brother, Shane, paced the floor of the library.

"Where could they have possibly gone with out telling us?" He asked frantically, more to himself than to his sister. "I mean, it's not like Kali said anything about this to _me_, heaven forbid," he said in a surprisingly bitter voice that he hardly recognized as his own. "Did Elita say anything to you? Or Kali for that matter? I'm sure she talks to you _loads_ more than she talks to me—"

"No, Shane," Kris said sadly, beginning to play uneasily with a strand of her long, black hair. "We've been through this before—several times—neither Elita _nor_ Kali told me anything. It's the same with all the others."

He sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, Kris. It's just… I'm really worried, is all." He scratched his head and unknowingly rumpled his wavy, light brown hair.

"I know, Shane," Kris said soothingly. "Maybe they really _are_ with their mother, like Dumbledore told us."

Shane made a derisive sound. "Oh, come on Kris, don't be so naïve. If Kali and Elita were kidnapped by Death Eaters or something would Dumbledore _really_ tell us?"

"Yes," said Kris defiantly, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder in a gesture of confidence.

"Please! Didn't Mum and Dad ever tell you about the _last _time that happened? Dumbledore told the students Voldemort had risen again—the media had a bloody field day! And the Ministry sent over that awful woman. Oh, what was her name?—Umbrella or something. Dumbledore obviously doesn't want that to happen again. And it's not like we're our parents, we're not heroes; there's nothing _we_ can do about Kali and Elita if something bad happened to them! And besides, the _last _thing Hogwarts needs now is bad publicity, considering the school is practically the only place we're safe. So why would Dumbledore bother to tell us?" he said harshly.

Kris opened her mouth and then closed it again. It was obvious she didn't have an answer for her brother.

Shane noticed Madam Pince was eyeing the two of them suspiciously, just waiting for a reason to kick them out. Shane often got the distinct impression that she didn't like Kris very much. Well, his sister _was_ very loud—a librarian's worst nightmare. He smiled slightly in spite of himself.

"I think I'm going to go back my dormitory to get some rest or something," Shane sighed. He just needed to be alone. He had needed to be alone a lot lately. Kris nodded, tucking the strand of hair she had been playing with back behind her ear. Her almond-shaped emerald eyes followed Shane out of the library and out of sight...

* * *

Shane Potter was the kind of person who thought everything through. He was very intelligent, indeed. And responsible, certainly more so than his sister, Kris, who was constantly pulling pranks. Sometimes he wished he could be as carefree as his twin, or have as much fun. He found himself wishing that rather often as of late, but Kris's spontaneity was simply not in Shane's nature. That's probably why _he_ was a prefect. And a Ravenclaw.

Now, he was proud of being a Ravenclaw, and so was everyone else, obviously. They had very good reputations with the teachers, not to mention an excellent Quidditch team, which he happened to be a beater for. Some people considered that ironic, sweet mild-mannered Shane beating objects flying around at ninety miles per hour. These people obviously did not know him very well.

Shane had always liked to consider himself not only a classy person, but a stoic person. He never let what people said get to him, outwardly, at least. So, naturally, he found her frequently had a lot of pent-up rage, which was great for taking out on bludgers. _Voila_, a great beater. He sighed to himself as he walked down the deserted corridor leading up to the Astronomy tower, where the Ravenclaw common room was located. He _was_ a good Quidditch player… but Kris was better. Kris was Seeker for Gryffindor, which made his father undoubtedly proud, considering it was _his_ old position for _his_ old house. He was proud of Shane too, of course, but it just wasn't the same…

Sometimes Shane wished he could just say what he felt when he felt it… like Kris… but he couldn't. He constantly worried about what people thought of him.

If he were in Gryffindor, then they would have the best Quidditch team, hands down. Shane shook his head. No, he was in Ravenclaw, that wasn't an issue, would never be an issue.

That wasn't the only thing he disliked about being in separate houses from his twin. He would never admit it, but he missed their closeness. They still talked of course, but it wasn't the same as it was before they came to Hogwarts. They used to be inseparable, but now Kris spent most of her time with Ste and Connor, her best friends, and only talked with Shane when she had no one _else_ to talk to. But on the other hand, he didn't think he and Kris would get along if they spent all of their time together. They hadn't when they were little kids, and so surely they wouldn't now. They two weren't alike in the slightest. But Ste and Connor were both notorious for their trouble-making, like Kris, and Shane would just be a wet blanket if he were good friends with _them_, because he just _had_ to be Mr. Caution all the time.

Considering all of this, Shane was the last person anyone, including himself, would expect to ever get in trouble with anything, anywhere. Which was why what happened after he left the library that day came as such a blow. Literally.

* * *

Clay Reagan and his idiot groupies were standing in the middle of the corridor, laughing loudly at something, and happened to be in Shane's way as he was headed toward the Ravenclaw common room. He was in a bad enough mood as it was, and he did not want that idiot Reagan making it any worse, so he tried to push past them unnoticed. It didn't work.

"Potter! How lovely to see you again," Reagan exclaimed in a saccharine-sweet voice. The boy was large and muscular, with beady eyes and oily brown hair in need of a trim.

"Oh, likewise," Shane replied in the same tone, looking as menacing as he could possibly manage.

"So your girlfriend and her sister ran away from school, or so I hear," Reagan attempted casually, looking haughtily down at Shane.

Shane's deep brown eyes narrowed. "No," he replied coolly. "They went to visit with their mother, she's ill, you see." He felt an uncontrollable anger beginning to bubble inside of him. Reagan hadn't said anything particularly vicious yet, but it was the sound of his voice, his manner of speech that made Shane all the more angry. He could tell this wasn't going to be pretty.

He laughed. "I _would_ say it's a shame," Reagan continued lazily. "But I'm afraid that's a level of lying that even I simply cannot achieve." Shane scowled. Reagan's friends laughed loudly. "And 'visiting their ill mother'? Please, Potter! We're in the middle of a soddin' war! How stupid do you think I am?"

Shane clenched his fists at his sides and smiled forcedly. "Well, it's certainly a level of stupidity which_ I_ simply cannot achieve."

"Oh, very funny. Maybe it's time someone told you the truth, Potter. Your idiot girlfriend and her sister have gone and gotten themselves killed by now. I don't really care, personally. I know that I, for one, am _not_ going to miss those stupid mudblood bitches."

Shane had taken such torment gracefully from Reagan for the past five and a half years, but this was where he drew the line. Shane abruptly felt that being a beater on the Quidditch team simply wasn't enough. He needed to hit something. Right this second. He couldn't take it anymore, the first thing he saw he simply had to hit. And the first thing he saw just happened to be Clay Reagan's face.

He swung back so quickly that Reagan didn't have enough time to react. Shane thrust his arm forward with as much force as he could muster and his fist collided with Reagan's face in a sickening _crack_. But it hadn't helped. Hitting him wasn't enough. Shane's anger was still there, anger he had bottled up for years. And not just anger towards Reagan, it was anger towards things he had never really acknowledged he was even angry about.

Reagan looked up at Shane it utmost loathing, blood spilling from both his nostrils, trickling down his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He seemed every bit as angry as Shane. He reached for his wand—

—But Shane was quicker. "_EXPELLIARMUS!_" he shouted with so much force that not only did Reagan's wand soar out of his hand, but Reagan himself soared across the corridor and stopped abruptly when he collided with the wall, which met him with another sickening _crack_.

Two of the people Reagan had been talking with—boys by the names of Pryce and Young, Shane vaguely recalled—rushed over to their comrade's side. But the other person remained firmly planted in her spot, hand reaching inside her cloak and pulling out a long, wooden wand. She waved it dangerously in front of Shane's face, and his grip on his own wand tightened considerably.

"Why, Shane," she sneered, "We've simply got to stop meeting like this." He knew the girl all too well. Cassandra Erickson. She was pretty, he had to admit. Her eyes and hair had always seemed to match: black. _Probably matches her heart too_, Shane thought wryly.

Cassandra seemed so intent on making him squirm, that she hadn't even noticed the girl that had come up behind Shane until she bellowed "_EXPELLIARMUS!_"

Cassandra blanched as her wand flew out a window, shattering it to pieces of glass shard in the process, and continued to fly through the courtyard and out of sight. Cassandra glared from Shane to the girl, then back to Shane before she huffily stormed out of the corridor.

Shane spun around to see his savior. He smiled. It was Kris. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she glanced over the crumpled heap on the other side of the corridor—Clay Reagan—and the two figures trying, and failing, to pull the heavy-set boy up. "You did that?" she queried breathlessly.

He nodded silently. "I—I didn't think—" he stopped. His sister looked up at him. Shane knew what she was thinking. He knew she was amazed by the fact that Shane might, in fact, have some irrational bone in his body. Shane was amazed by it too. They continued to stand in silence for what seemed like a very long time, neither of them sure what to say or do. They suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps.

They looked around frantically and saw a girl, about their age, with long, flowing white-blonde hair and steely eyes.

"Raina. Just _wonderful_," Kris muttered sarcastically.

"And the Potters! Both of you! _What _a joy." She looked around, and her smug expression immediately dissipated when she caught sight of Reagan. "Clay!" she gasped.

But Raina didn't have time to do anything, for there was the unmistakable sound of footsteps reverberating through the corridor once again. Panicked, their eyes darted to the end of the corridor, where Blake Malfoy, a tall, blonde-haired, pale-eyed young man with a badge that read "Head Boy" now stood.

"Hey, Kris," the boy said, grinning shyly.

"Oh _please_, Blake," Raina muttered scathingly, crossing her arms.

Blake acted as if he hadn't heard his younger sister. He acknowledged Shane with a business-like nod. "Er—you two might want to clear out. That Erickson girl and Filch are coming down this way—" he surveyed the scene before him, taking in the broken window, Reagan and his lackeys, and the blood splotches on the floor. "—and I'm guessing this is why. I'll try to stall Filch as long as I can." He grinned at Kris once again.

"Cleaning up her messes _again_, are you, dear brother?" Raina asked, faking actual interest. Everyone proceeded to ignore her.

"Thanks, Blake," Kris said, grinning back, "We really owe you one." And with that Kris and Shane took off running in the opposite direction.

* * *

As they were running, Kris thought to herself that punching Reagan's lights out might very well been the stupidest thing that Shane had ever done, but it was also the greatest. Kris had never been prouder to call him her brother. Her face broke into an unmistakable grin. Lucky Shane didn't notice—he would've thought her to be crazier than she already was.

* * *

"Shane WHAT?" Shane and Kris's concerned younger brother, Aiden, screeched, his chocolate-brown eyes wide.

Kris replied giddily, "He beat that bastard, Reagan to a bloody pulp! You should have seen it!" Kris jumped up out of her seat in the red armchair and pranced around the Gryffindor common room, acting out what the squabble must have looked like. "Reagan didn't stand a chance!"

Stephen Weasley, a red-haired boy with eerie gray eyes said, smiling dryly, "Shane. Ha. I never knew he was so much like _you_, Kris."

"Well, Ste," Kris said, still prancing around, "We _are_ twins, you know. There had to be _sometime_ we acted remotely alike. It was bound to happen sooner or later. This is so great!" she squealed. "Reagan getting the stuffing beaten out of him! Really brightens the current moody ambiance around here."

"I don't believe it," Connor Lynch laughed as he ran his fingers through his brown hair. "Well, it's the quiet ones you've got to watch out for I suppose."

"Y'know, he's going to be in _loads_ of trouble," Skye Cooper said shakily. Although Skye was a Hufflepuff, she was often found in the Gryffindor common room, for she didn't have many Hufflepuff companions. And, considering she was a friend of Kris's, no Gryffindor dared object to this unorthodox visitation; Kris had a temper that really shouldn't be reckoned with.

Kris stopped dancing merrily for a moment to look at Skye. "Loads? How do you figure?"

Skye started to nervously twirl a strand of long, straggly blonde hair, as to avoid meeting Kris's interrogating glare. "Well—I mean—he _is_ a prefect. And they _really_ hate it when prefects misbehave. I heard about this one girl who was caught snogging with this one boy—"

"—Oh, lem'me guess—you heard this from your friend's brother's girlfriend's sister's best friend's godmother's cousin?" Kris supplied.

"_No_," Skye objected angrily. Her blue eyes—always over-bright, so that it looked all the time as if she were on the verge of tears—narrowed. "I'm serious! She got stripped of her badge!"

Kris scoffed. "That would never happen to Shane. Flitwick's head of Ravenclaw so he'll be in charge of his punishment—and he _loves_ him. He would _never_ do that to Shane… I mean… would he?" She looked around to her friends for support.

Aiden shrugged and rumpled his long jet-black hair unconsciously as he said, "I dunno. But I expect they'll be writing to Mum and Dad, because McGonagall or Dumbledore will eventually find out, this sort of thing doesn't often go unnoticed. So I believe that, at the very least, Shane should be expecting a _nasty_ Howler from Mum." Aiden's eyes glimmered mischievously.

* * *

Shane did all he could do. Cassandra had, of course, told Snape everything (and Raina supplied all the juicy details she could), and Snape, in turn, told McGonagall. So the only probable solution was to tell McGonagall exactly what happened in his own words. And he did. He began with after he left the library and ended with himself and Kris running down the corridor. He was planning to leave Kris out of the story, but he was almost positive that Cassandra had included her, and Shane needed their stories to match up as much as possible to avoid as much trouble as possible.

There was a long silence on McGonagall's part after Shane finished his tale. He began to occupy himself by nervously wringing his hands instead of looking into McGonagall's eyes. He wished he could have met with Flitwick, seeing as he _was_ the Head of Ravenclaw and he had a fondness towards Shane, and plus, he didn't intimidate him nearly as much as McGonagall did, but Flitwick was in a "very important meeting" with Dumbledore and obviously couldn't be disturbed.

He looked around the office. It was very nice, albeit not nearly as extravagant as Dumbledore's, but it was still better than most other professors' offices. He was seated in a comfy, crimson chair across from the Deputy Headmistress's desk. He thought half-heartedly that the crimson chair in which he was seated chair was probably supposed to reflect the fact that McGonagall was also head of Gryffindor House. Maybe if he had been sorted into Gryffindor she wouldn't be as hard on him…

McGonagall finally spoke, "I trust you are aware that Clay Reagan is in the hospital wing and will remain there indefinitely? You put quite a lot of feeling behind that curse of yours. He's unconscious at the moment."

"Yes, Professor, I know. Blake Malfoy told me, I passed him in the hallway on the way here," Shane said quietly, almost in a whisper.

"You'll have to forgive me, Potter, but this has come as quite a shock. You were practically the only student none of the professors, including myself ever worried about, I suppose that's where we went wrong, wouldn't you say?" Shane said nothing. "As a prefect, younger students look up to you for guidance and support, and as a role model. Now, picking fights with other students and landing them in the hospital wing when you haven't got so much as a scratch—" she closed her eyes and her face gained a momentarily resigned look. "Well, I don't think that's the best image for our younger students, or any of our students for that matter, to look up to, wouldn't you say?"

Again, Shane said nothing.

"You _will_ run into incidents like this again, Shane," he was startled by the fact that she called him by his first name. "And you've shown you can't handle those situations with the utmost dignity and responsibility. Therefore, I am suspending you from your prefect duties indefinitely." Shane blanched. "Honestly, Potter. You're a very intelligent young man; you can't tell me you didn't see that coming."

Well, Shane sighed inwardly, what had he expected? To be let off? At least he wasn't suspended or expelled.

It was clear the meeting was over and Shane stood as gracefully as possible from his seat across from McGonagall's desk, and he headed towards the door.

"However, Potter—" he turned around, once again startled, but this time by the unmistakable sound of kindness in her voice. "Given the situation, I'm quite sure I would have done the same thing."


	4. Traitor

**Author's Note:** If anyone's getting that déjà vu feeling reading this, that might be because you've read the old version I had posted on a loooong, long time ago. I recently deleted it as it… well… sucked. I, quite honestly, haven't been on this site in a long while, and as I'm currently on spring break, I thought I'd get to work on my abandoned fic. No, I'm not a plagiarist; this is my story and always has been. But I really appreciate your concern.

**Disclaimer:** See prologue.

Chapter Three: "Traitor"

_September 15th, 1996-_

Kali and Elita sat by the lake. Elita was watching the giant squid loll lazily about in the water and Kali was working diligently on an essay for Transfiguration she was sure she had done before…

"Elita?" She looked up from her parchment.

"Hmm?" Elita asked, still watching the squid.

"I've been thinking—"

"That's new," she said sarcastically.

Kali rolled her eyes. "Elita, could you please be serious for a moment? Would it kill you?"

Elita sighed heavily. "Probably. But since you're my sister, I'll give it a shot. What have you been thinking about, Kal?"

"This whole mess. I'm really worried," she confessed nervously.

"About what?" Elita asked. Kali could tell by the expression on her face that she was obviously dreading the answer.

"Mr. Weasley—I mean, Ron. He's going to think I'm a nutter one day when I call him 'Mr. Weasley' to his face."

"Nah, he'll just think it's a French thing. And besides, haven't we—" Elita stopped abruptly to avoid being overheard as a blonde Hufflepuff girl strolled passed them. Once the girl was out of hearing shot, she continued. "I've sort of been avoiding this subject, but now that's it's come up… I'm sure we're here to change something. I know that we have to help Mr. Wea—I mean, Ron. We have to stop him from turning," Elita proclaimed confidently.

"But are we really sure? About what's going to happen to him, I mean?" asked Kali, now stuffing her Transfiguation textbook and essay back into her bag.

Elita scoffed. "I think we're pretty damn sure if you ask me. I've told you all about your little prophecy multiple times, but if you want to hear it again I wrote down the Cliff's notes, considering you pesky Seers can never seem to remember them. Oh, hold on," she fished in several pockets of her robes until she finally pulled out a small piece of parchment. "I don't know why you idiot Seers have to be so damned cryptic all the time. How are we supposed to know what's going to happen in the future if we can't understand what you're _saying_ in the present?" she ranted.

Kali rolled her eyes melodramatically. "Are you still talking?"

"Watch it," Elita snapped. She cleared her throat an unfolded the piece of parchment, suddenly businesslike. "Alright. What we know. One: 'There's a traitor in our midst.' Pfft, what a lame line. Two: He's 'flame-haired.' Two-'A': I'm guessing he's a guy unless the person who came up with this rubbish is just incredibly sexist." She was put back on track by another eye-roll from Kali. "Three: He's close to the Potters. Very close. Someone who seemed loyal to a fault until he betrayed them. Sounds sickeningly familiar to a certain case of Wormtail, doesn't it? Well, I guess history really does repeat itself," she sighed.

Kali lowered her voice significantly, so that even Elita could barely hear her. "It's just… we've _met_ Ron. Both past _and _present Ron. He's just not the type of person who would betray anyone. What could he possibly gain from it? Let's face it, Elita. Ron's no Peter Pettigrew. And it just doesn't make sense. We both think that your time-shifting abilities and my Seeing abilities coincide. We know we're supposed to stop something from happening—like always. Something that must have to do with Ron becoming traitorous. So why are we _here_… in _this _time?"

"I thought it was about Harry and Hermione. I figured they started dating this year," Elita theorized. "Remember how Kris told us that Mr. Wea—_Ron_—used to have a big crush on Hermione? Well, I figured Ron was just incredibly jealous, and we both know that's entirely possible."

"But jealous enough to turn traitor? No, I don't think so. And Harry and Hermione haven't even started dating yet. And Ron's as loyal as ever, and even if he wasn't we wouldn't be able to get a peep out of him. So why are we here… in the past… changing the future that hasn't even happened in _our_ time yet? It just doesn't make any sense." Kali lay wearily down on the grass and stared blankly up at the cloudless sky.

"Kal, I have tried and tried again to explain it to you. I have little or no control over my time-shifting abilities. They take me back when I'm supposed to go back. I can go back a few minutes with my own willpower—it's difficult, but I can do it—but stuff like this I have no control over, you know that…this must be big. Really important. Something we _have_ to change."

"There're two things that are bothering me right there!" Kali exclaimed. "First of all, who's 'they'? I've thought before that it might be your subconscious. Or maybe we're right, maybe we _do_ have a freaky-twin-bonding thing that allows my Seeing abilities to communicate with your time-shifting abilities without either of us consciously knowing? Oh, I don't know. But you seem so convinced that what takes us back in time is an outside force. I suppose you'd know better than me, it is _your_ 'gift'. So let's say, hypothetically speaking, that it _is_ an outside force controlling when you travel through time. It's really odd they have this control over you, if not worrisome. In fact, it's very worrisome, indeed.

"Second of all," Kali continued. "I thought we couldn't change the past. Didn't Kris or Shane or even Aiden ever tell you about that time when their parents went back in time to save Sirius Black? They—oh, how do I explain it? They didn't change anything. They just… confirmed the events that were predestined to happen. We've gone back before when I've Seen things, but I don't think I was Seeing the future—I think I was Seeing the would-be future. I remain unconvinced that anyone can actually alter the course of time once it's already happened. Because every action has a consequence."

Elita looked at her sister in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"Okay, what would you do? I mean, if you got to pick a time to go back to so you could change the past or the future or what have you, what would it be? What would you do?"

"Erm, I dunno. I suppose I would go back to the Marauders' time. Kris told me all about them. I would stop them from ever befriending that little rat Pettigrew."

Kali thought for a moment. "Alright, that'll work. Say the Potters and Lupin and Black never became friends with Pettigrew. So Black's _really_ their Secret-Keeper. Of course, he never betrays them. Lily and James Potter don't die. Harry Potter is no longer known as the Boy Who Lived. He has no lightning bolt scar."

"What's your point?" said Elita disbelievingly. "That's a good thing!"

"No, Elita, it's not," said Kali, waving her hands impatiently. "Listen to what I'm saying! What would've happened if You-Know-Who—?"

"For Merlin's sake, say his name, Kali."

Kali sighed. "Alright, what would've happened if _Voldemort_ hadn't met his downfall in little Harry Potter?"

"Erm—"

"Sure, the _Potters_ wouldn't have died. But hundreds, maybe thousands more would've died in their place because Voldemort was never weakened! Don't you see? Every little thing we do! Every action, every choice… has a _consequence_. What if your actions are being manipulated by some evil powers-that-be? We have no earthly way of knowing! We could be sealing the fates of countless people!" she yelled as if she had bottled this up for quite some time.

"You _really_ need to step off your soapbox and lay back on the caffeine, sis," Elita finally said after her sister's outburst.

Kali shrugged, "I've just had extra time to think, is all."

"Think, huh? You spend entirely too much time with Shane."

The two were unable to converse further, however, do to the sudden appearance of the blonde Hufflepuff who had strolled past moments earlier. "Excuse me?" The girl asked politely. "Are you two the new students from Beauxbatons?"

"Wha—oh, yes," Elita smiled sweetly. "That'd be us."

"Well, I thought I'd introduce myself." The girl extended a hand to Elita, who grasped it, and then to Kali, who followed suit. "I'm Raleigh Hampton." Kali gave a small gasp and covered her hand with her mouth, but she quickly dropped it when she realized what she had done. "Are you alright?" Raleigh asked, concerned.

"Oh, yes. I'm fine. I just…" she frantically racked her brain. "I just recognized your name because you're Head Girl," Kali pointed to the badge pinned of Raleigh's robes, just above the Hufflepuff crest. "And it's very flattering you've come to talk to us."

Elita snorted, and then began to cough.

"Oh, no trouble at all," Raleigh said while glancing worriedly at Elita and then back to Kali. "So… er—I hear one of you is in Gryffindor, then?"

"Yeah, that'd be me," Elita said, beginning to recover from her abrupt coughing attack. She pointed to the Gryffindor crest on her robes.

"Oh," Raleigh replied, flushing slightly. "Would you happen to know Ron Weasley?"

"Ac—" Elita began before her sister cut her off with a sharp jab in the ribs with her elbow.

"Yes," Kali cut in. "In fact, we've been quite friendly with him ever since we got here. Charming fellow, really."

"Yeah, he is," Raleigh said dreamily. Then she snapped back into focus realizing that Elita was staring at her questioningly. "Listen, this is going to sound really childish of me, but I was wondering… I mean… I was thinking about—er… do you know if Ron is… if he's seeing anyone?"

Elita let out another hacking cough, which was suddenly stopped by Kali's foot smashing down on her own. She grimaced and glared angrily at Kali.

"No he isn't, actually. And what a coincidence!" Kali exclaimed, not taking notice of the daggers Elita was glaring at her. "You see… I told a little fib earlier, I'm afraid. The real reason I knew who you were is not because you're Head Girl… it's because—erm… Ron talks about you constantly."

Raleigh's strangely familiar gray eyes shone with happiness. "Really?"

"Oh, all the time," Kali assured her. "You know," she continued, lowering her voice. "He would love to ask you out, but the poor boy's simply too nervous about rejection," Kali shrugged, feigning hopelessness. Elita mouthed something that looked like "What the bloody hell are you doing?", but Kali ignored her pointedly.

"Oh, well then…" Raleigh seemed to be thinking hard.

"Then you should ask him out," Kali stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

Elita stared at Kali, mouth open in disbelief, but the other two girls seemed not to notice. Raleigh looked at Kali as though she were the most wonderful thing on the planet. "You're right… I should! And I will! Thanks so much." Raleigh suddenly seemed like she was in a hurry to be someplace else. "Well, I'll see you two around then," and with that she began to make her way up the hill towards the castle, but she spun around abruptly and beamed at the sisters. "Oh and, if you two are ever in a tight fix," she pointed to her Head Girl badge which was gleaming in the sunlight. "You know where to go." She winked at them then she was off.

Elita pushed Kali so hard it almost knocked her down. "What the _bloody hell_ were you _thinking_!" she screamed as soon as Raleigh was out of sight.

Kali blanched. "How dense could you possibly be? I think you've set a record! And for you, Elita, that's saying a lot."

"ME? YOU'RE THE ONE THAT'S SETTING UP INNOCENT GIRLS WITH TRAITOROUS MURDERING PSY—"

"ELITA!" Kali slapped her sister hard across the face. Elita staggered backward, looking utterly aghast, and suddenly regained her composure and raised her hand, about to return the favor, before her sister grabbed her arm. "Get a hold of yourself, Elita! Are you a complete _dolt_?"

"Well, one of us is," Elita murmured, forcing her arm away from her sister and staring sulkily down at her feet. Kali chose to ignore her.

"Don't you recognize that girl? You've seen pictures of her!" Kali said eagerly.

"Erm—have I?" Elita replied, looking up. She knew Elita hated it when she didn't know what was going on inside Kali's head—she smiled to herself—which was all the time.

"Yes, you have!" Kali grinned. "That girl—Raleigh Hampton, you know her, or know of her, at least," Kali's face suddenly grew somber, but she continued keenly. "Only we know her with a different last name. She's Brynn and Ste's mum. Raleigh is—or _was—_Mr. Wea—Arggh! _Ron's _wife. I was doing them a favor. We do want Ste and Brynn to be born, don't we?"

Elita stared at her sister, dumbfounded. "Of course. Wow," Elita replied softly. "Suddenly the events that have occurred in the past five minutes make much more sense…"

* * *

_In a different time…_

A young man, no older than twenty-three walked into the dark, cold room. He was wearing a cloak with the hood up, and his face was hidden in shadow. But a few rogue tufts of fiery red hair peeked out from under his hood.

"You sent for me, my lord?" the young man asked.

"Yes," another man replied hoarsely, as though he hadn't spoken in a long while. He was seated in a chair, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was cloaked and hooded too, but from under the hood two eyes, colored a frightening blood-red, shone menacingly. "Tell me, how goes it?"

"How goes what, my lord?" The young man replied, clearly uncertain of his master's sudden friendliness.

"Forgive me for not making myself clear. I mean, does anyone suspect your loyalty to me? You are, after all, in the midst of my enemies, that must be incredibly difficult," the man said casually, maybe with a tiny hint of sarcasm, the young man seemed not sure.

The young man chuckled nervously. "No, my lord, no one suspects anything of me. In fact, I can name several people they would suspect _before_ me," he boasted. The other man said nothing. "Is—is that all, my lord?"

"Yes, boy. Leave me now."

And with that order the young man left the dark, cold room as quickly as he had arrived.

* * *

_September 15th, 1996-_

Harry found Kali and Elita to be... _strange_ to say the least. Not strange as in Luna Lovegood sense (although Kali was making friends with her rather quickly), but strange in a déjà vu kind of way.

Harry also found it odd that the girls seemed to know their way around the school as well as anyone else. Hell, _Harry_ got lost more than the girls did. It had taken himself and Ron nearly their entire first year to finally be able to navigate themselves successfully around Hogwarts, and it had taken the Rollins girls about a week! He supposed he was being paranoid, an undesired side-effect from hanging out with Hermione as often as he did.

He didn't have time to worry about the girls, anyway. Quidditch trials were fast approaching, and Harry's main focus at the present time was recruiting. He was asking everyone, yes, _everyone_ in the Gryffindor House (besides the first years, of course) to be present at the trials. Harry even thought he'd convinced _Neville_ to come.

But as excited as Harry was to be playing his favorite sport once again, after a year's distinct lack of it, he couldn't deny that he was rather anxious. Fred, George, Alicia, and Angelina were all gone this year, and they had been pretty much the entire team (besides Katie, who was awarded the captaincy). And while he had complete confidence in Ron, he hoped that his best friend was mentally preparing himself for more rip-roaring rounds of "Weasley Is Our King" from the Slytherins.

The Order was at a momentary standstill, doing nothing but waiting. A few months ago Harry would've figured that this would be the time Voldemort would be making his move, but nothing was happening, and there was a great sense of foreboding growing in the pit of Harry's stomach. He knew this was the calm before of the storm; it would only be downhill from here.

He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione about the Prophecy, and he wasn't quite sure why he was so anxious about doing so. Of course they would understand... right? No, it wasn't about them understanding… it was about _him_ understanding. He knew he would have to come to terms with what was happening, it just might take him awhile. But when he did, _then_ he would tell them.

Despite all of the pressures of Harry's everyday life and all of the other things he should have his mind on, he often found his thoughts drifting back to Kali and Elita. He had known the girls for over half a month now, and they seemed nice enough (although he had been right in his fist assumption, Kali _was_ rather intense). But there was just something about them… He knew Hermione sensed it too. And whatever that something was, Harry had the awful feeling that he was somehow going to get caught up in the middle of it.


	5. Just a Letter

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Four: "Just a Letter"

_October 7th, 2021-_

Ste buttered his toast as his best friend, Kris Potter, chatted animatedly about the Gryffindor team's prospects for winning the Quidditch Cup this year. He didn't say much, he hadn't been in a very talkative mood lately. He was just happy listening to Kris.

"Post is here," Kris observed as hundreds of owls swooped into the Great Hall. "Oh look, there's Mercury. Maybe he has a birthday card for you."

"But my birthday isn't for two more weeks," Ste objected. While he said this, a handsome, sleek, dark brown owl flew gracefully toward Ste and dropped a letter into his cereal bowl. "Lovely birthday present," he muttered sarcastically as he fished the letter out and attempted to dry it off. "Mercury, haven't I taught you that post and breakfast items don't mix?" Mercury hooted thoughtfully at this.

Mercury was Ste's owl. His older brother, Brynn, had given him to Ste the summer before he arrived as a first year at Hogwarts. Speaking of his brother, Ste recognized the handwriting on the front of the envelope that read "Stephen Weasley, Great Hall, Hogwarts School." He opened the envelope and read.

_Dear Ste,_

_Happy early birthday! How are you? Is your sixth year going well? You should enjoy it, you know. You're going to miss it next year when you're taking those ruddy N.E.W.T.S. What a pain in the arse they were. But I'm getting off track. _

_This is going to sound a touch odd, but have you heard or seen anything out of the ordinary lately? Well, ha, besides Kris, I mean. And yes, I'm very well aware she's reading this over your shoulder as we speak—Hi Kris!_

Ste looked up from the letter just in time to see Kris avert her gaze and suddenly become fascinated with her scrambled egg. He chuckled and continued to read.

_I just want you, both of you—Kris isn't blood kin, but I feel like she is—to be very wary. And tell Connor that too! I know how much the three of you tend to attract trouble. And don't get me wrong, I'm not giving you some sermon about how you should straighten up and fly right or what have you; I just want you to be careful, you can't be too careful nowadays. And Ste, please don't think of me as some over-protective, thinks-he's-better, know-it-all, patronizing type of big brother; I'm just trying to look out for you. And if you see or hear anything that might be relevant to our current… situation, _please_ tell either myself or the Order immediately. I realize that isn't how your mind works, that you'll want to do something yourself, but please, I beg you to do the smart thing. I know I'm not cool anymore and I've become some stuck-up tightwad, but it's worth it to keep you safe._

_Your brother,_

_Brynn_

Ste set the letter down on the table. Brynn was always trying to protect him, ever since he could remember. They had never really fought, there was such an age gap—seven years—that they didn't see much of each other often, so they got along very well, actually. He knew Brynn knew something. He wouldn't admit it if he asked, Ste knew, but he could tell that there was something going on. Was Voldemort about to strike? Or did the Order just suspect that and didn't want to get the word out that they thought something was coming? Did Brynn have some idea that contradicted Dumbledore's on what had become of Kali and Elita? Ste had no earthly clue. He looked at Kris and asked abruptly, "How's your dad?"

"My dad?" Kris repeated, confused. "Erm, fine the last I heard…" her beautiful green eyes suddenly grew wide in horror. "Was there something in that letter? I didn't finish it—"

"Oh no," Ste said, feeling guilty that he'd worried her. "It's just that Brynn's being so cryptic, and he usually tells me things… I think he knows something. Something important… something bad… I was wondering if your dad—"

Kris scoffed. "You've known my father for as long as I have, Ste, we're both very aware that he wouldn't alert me if the bloody Armageddon was upon us. He'd say, 'Oh, it's nothing Kris, I'll take care of it.'" Kris shook her head sadly. "I love my dad. I really do, I just wish he'd stop trying to protect me so damn much. Oh, we're getting off subject, aren't we?" she said, grinning apologetically. "Nah, he hasn't told me anything about anything out of the ordinary." She shrugged. "Don't get all worked up over it, Ste," she continued, apparently noticing the worry etched all over his face. She always knew exactly how he was feeling, and he loved her for it.

She punched him playfully on his arm, and he savored her touch, even if it was only for a fraction of a second. "You know, it's just a letter. Don't let it ruin today. Hogsmeade, remember? You promised me you'd buy me a Butterbeer." He smiled. How could he forget? And Kris was right. It was just a letter. Nothing to worry about. He had better things to think about anyway. Like spending an afternoon alone with Kris... that was surely enough to brighten his day.


	6. Forgotten

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Five: "Forgotten"

_September 25, 1996-_

Kali made her way, weaving in and out of groups of students chattering happily about today's Hogsmeade visit, to the library. Elita constantly poked fun at her, saying that if the Apocalypse were upon them Kali would retreat to the library for solace. Of course Kali hadn't told her this, but Elita was probably right. She smiled to herself.

Three and a half weeks had passed since the Rollins sisters had been sent to the past. Kali wondered often what her friends—and Shane—thought of their disappearance. Were they worried? Were they scared? What had Dumbledore told the school—if anything?

Kali attempted to distract herself from these grave thoughts by wondering if Raleigh had yet to ask out Ron. Elita thought it was odd, helping the man they knew would betray them, but Kali thought they didn't have much of a choice. If Raleigh and Ron didn't get together Ste and Brynn wouldn't be born! And they certainly wanted their friends to be born, no matter if their father was a traitor.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU _THINKING_!" A very angry voice yelled from behind her.

Kali spun around and realized that Ron was talking to—more appropriately, screaming at—her. "Well, hello to you too," she replied coolly.

"So," he said, wild-eyed, clearly beyond reason. Kali could already tell this was not going to be a _too_ terribly wonderful experience. "I've known you for not even a month and you decide to take it upon yourself to tell a _complete STRANGER_ that I fancy her, which is a lie, considering she's a _complete STRANGER_ and I've never even had a single conversation with her, not one! Unless, of course, you count her telling me about how you said I fancy her and then her asking me out, leaving me looking like a complete _idiot_! And you told her that I talk about her all the time!" Kali winced; she hadn't expected Raleigh to be so forthright with Ron. "Are you mental or something?" he continued. "Or is your head just shoved so far up your arse that you can't think straight?"

She took in a sharp breath and clenched her fists at her sides so that her long fingernails were digging painfully into her palms. _All right Kali_, she told herself. _Calm down. He's angry, that's what you expected._ With all her energy focused on not losing her temper, she replied calmly, "She's quite taken with you, Ron. I was only doing the both of you a favor. She was too nervous to ask you out without a little… encouragement."

Ron was so angry that he seemed at an utter loss for words. Kali didn't understand why he was so mad; Raleigh was nice and fairly pretty. Why wouldn't he want to give her a chance? Unless…

"Ron?" She asked warily. "Do you fancy someone else? Is that why you're so angry with me for trying to set you up with Raleigh?"

"WHAT? Of—of course not! It—it's just the just the principle of the thing!" he insisted. He concentrated fixedly on his feet.

"You do!" Kali's lips curled into a devilish smile as she realized just what was going on—it was just as Elita had predicted, "And I bet it's Hermione!" Kali proclaimed.

"Of course not! That's ridiculous!" Ron retorted a little too quickly. Kali couldn't fail to notice that his ears had turned a deep crimson hue.

She smiled and chuckled. "That's what I suspected," her voice grew quieter and she sighed. "Listen, Ron… I know this sounds harsh, and I know it's none of my business… but I think you should give Raleigh a shot."

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUISNESS!" he bellowed. Several students turned around to look at him, but he didn't seem to notice. He stormed off down the corridor without giving Kali a backward glance.

She shrugged. She knew he would come around eventually.

* * *

Elita sank deeply into a crimson armchair in the Gryffindor common room. She rubbed her temples. She had to write a three-foot-long essay for Potions class. She found that Snape was as mean in the past as he was in her own time. She had had the false hope that his bitterness had come with age. She had been wrong. It certainly came in handy that she was talented in the Potions field. And the curriculum was basically the same as it was in her own time; apparently there weren't going to be many new discoveries in Potions in twenty-five years.

She was alone in the common room. It was a the second Hogsmeade weekend of the year (the first she and her sister had received their books and other supplies), and considering her father and mother were currently her age and Muggles living hundreds of miles away, it would be something of a challenge to get the permission slip signed. It was a beautiful, warm day, probably one of the last warm days of the year; winter was approaching rapidly. The first and second years were all out running around on the grounds, and Ron and Hermione—the only students older than twelve currently in the castle besides Kali and Elita—were patrolling the halls on prefect duty. Elita smiled as she recalled Ron's furious reaction when he found out that he was assigned duty today. But he was consoled slightly with Harry's promises of bringing him plenty of sweets back from Honeyduke's.

She rummaged through her bag, the only thing that she and her sister had had between them when they were taken to the past, looking for her Potions textbook and a quill, but she was distracted by a plain, Muggle-looking notebook. _Odd_, she thought to herself. She hadn't remembered putting that in there… in fact, she didn't remember that notebook at all. She extracted the notebook from her bag, and even more surprisingly, on the front cover in her own handwriting were the words: "Give to Harry, Ron, or Hermione."

"Huh," she said contemplatively. "Why would I want to give a Muggle notebook to Harry, Ron or Hermione?" she murmured. "I think my short-term memory problem is steadily growing worse…" But somehow, despite her memory of a goldfish, she thought she would be able to recall writing something like that…

She flipped through the notebook nervously, but within it were only blank, clean, college-ruled pages, not unlike what she'd used to write on in primary school. She dimly recalled Kris's telling of when Ginny Weasley, Ste's aunt, had been possessed by Voldemort to do his bidding through a blank diary that talked back to her when she wrote in it. But that didn't explain why _Elita's_ handwriting was on the cover of this notebook. And who would attempt a stunt like that anyway? If she _did_ give the notebook to one of the trio, Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't stupid enough to fall for something like the old "Hello, my name's Tom and I'm your friend" bit again. Who could possibly be dim-witted enough to attempt a stunt like that? But still, she had to check…

She fumbled for her quill and ink bottle. She dipped the quill in jet black ink and cautiously lowered it to the first page. With a slightly shaking hand she wrote, "Hello, my name's Elita. Can anyone read this?" She waited for several minutes, and when absolutely nothing happened she felt rather foolish. It was just a silly notebook she had put in her bag and forgotten! She _was_ known to be rather forgetful. But those words—"Give this to Harry, Ron, or Hermione"… She would think she'd remember something like that…

Maybe it _did_ have something to do with the Dark Arts… there had to be some way to forge someone's handwriting in the Wizarding World. But still… a blank Muggle notebook that obviously didn't contain Tom Riddle's memory seemed rather harmless to her. It could've been Kali playing a joke on her, a weird joke albeit, but Kali wasn't really known for her keen sense of humor. No, joke-playing was Elita's role in the family, Kali had always thought it childish. Elita mentally ruled out her sister—this notebook had found itself in her possession by other means.

She flipped through the pages once more, but this time a small piece of parchment—regular Wizarding parchment—fell out of it. She eyed it suspiciously. There was something else written, in her own handwriting once again, but this time it was messy, as if she had written it in a great hurry. And these words were even more surprising and confusing than the words on the notebook had been. They read, "_Singulus Alius_: time travel incantation. Possible users: the person willing to travel thorough time or the person willing to send/summon them. Requires great skills of concentration and an advanced state of mind. Less dangerous if performed by a Legimens."

That was odd. Very odd. She _certainly_ didn't remember writing _that_. She had never seen a spell used for time travel, and if she had, she felt certain—even with her infamous short-term memory—that she would be able to recall it. She felt tempted to try the incantation, but what if someone was using it to get to her? What if it was some kind of evil curse? There were so many questions swarming around in Elita's mind. She neatly folded the piece of parchment and placed it in one of her robe pockets for safekeeping.

This was certainly turning out to be interesting. What if that spell was how Elita traveled through time? What if Kali was right, she _was_ being manipulated by someone evil—possibly even Voldemort himself? She shuddered at the gruesome thought. She looked down at the notebook. Somehow, it gave off some sort of aura. Somehow, she believed it wasn't evil…

Her reverie was interrupted by the portrait hole swinging open and someone shouting. She spun around to see Ron ranting to a very tired-looking Hermione.

She hastily shoved the notebook under her chair cushion. She knew Ron would be fascinated by a Muggle form of parchment—also known as lined paper—and he would show it to Hermione who would catch sight of the message written on the cover and overreact. And maybe she had a right to, but until Elita knew exactly what it was and what it was doing with _her_, she was reluctant to let anyone see it.

Luckily, no one saw her hide the notebook. Ron was too busy shouting, and Hermione looked too weary to notice anything. It was only then Elita let Ron's ranting register in her mind.

"—I mean, who does she think she is! Setting me up with some girl I don't know! Pah!" He looked over at Elita. "No offense, but your sister is the nosiest little—"

Hermione sighed deeply. "Ron, you've been screaming about this all day, just let it go, for heaven's sake."

"Ron, listen," Elita said cautiously. She knew about the whole situation, pretty much all the Gryffindors who had been in the common room a few hours ago before the train departed for Hogsmeade had heard Ron shouting about it at the top of his lungs. He wasn't exactly a quiet person when he was angry. "I know you don't want to hear this—" Ron scowled menacingly at her, but she continued. "But my sister's instincts tend to be… well… pretty much right on the nose. I'm really sorry if she offended you, but I know she was only trying to help."

Hermione eyed her curiously, but only for a moment, then she shifted her gaze back to Ron. He sighed with an obviously defeated expression on his face. "I guess…" he said reluctantly. He then snapped, "It would make you all so happy if I went out with this Raleigh girl, wouldn't it?" Hermione and Elita both nodded fervently. Ron looked to Elita, then Hermione. It seemed to Elita that he looked at the latter for just a moment too long. Hermione smiled pleadingly. He broke his eye contact with her, and sighed once more. "All right, all right," he groaned. "You both would just love it if you could control every aspect of my life… I'll do it."

"Don't sound so cheerful," Elita remarked.

"Hey, I'm going," Ron replied moodily. "I never said I would be happy about it. I have a while 'til next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway." He then added hastily, "But it's only one date!"

Hermione and Elita nodded in agreement. But Elita knew that Ron and Raleigh would go on many more dates than one…

Eventually the students that had gone to Hogsmeade came back, Harry was bearing sweets for all, and lost in the excitement, Elita's thoughts of the mysterious notebook were forgotten.


	7. Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Six: "Happy Birthday"

_November 27th, 2021-_

Brynn Weasley had loved his mother. He still did. She had been a powerful, talented, brilliant witch who had worked unceasingly against Voldemort. Possibly more than Harry Potter himself. She sacrificed her life for his demise, but to no avail. Voldemort was now the strongest he had ever been. He had followers by the hundreds, even thousands.

The end was coming.

It was now widely known that Brynn's godfather, Harry Potter, was either going to kill or be killed. Brynn would never say it aloud to him, obviously, but having known Harry his entire life, he just didn't think it possible for the man to kill anyone. Even if the person he was supposed to kill had slaughtered his own mother and father. Harry didn't have a murderous bone in his body. How could he possibly kill anyone? He was a powerful wizard, sure, but a murderer? No, it simply wasn't in his nature. Something else Brynn would never say aloud to any of the Order, he had always been sure he knew what the outcome of the final battle was going to be. He laughed as he pictured his father, Ron's, utterly perplexed expression if he told the Order he believed they weren't going to win the war. "Of course we will! Harry hasn't failed us yet, has he?"

But Brynn wasn't too sure his father would say that, thinking back. When he thought of his father, he thought of him like he had been fourteen years ago. Laughing, happy, and carefree…

But his father had changed when Raleigh died. He had lost his spark, his energy, his enthusiasm, and his lust for life. He never found it again, either, which only made matters worse for Ste and Brynn. But Ste… he didn't remember his mother, he didn't remember what his father used to be like, so it didn't really affect him. You can't miss something you've never had… Ste wished she were still alive, sure, but he didn't have memories flooding through him, painful memories, every time he heard her name or saw her in a photograph. With this knowledge, Brynn was convinced he was completely and utterly alone.

Brynn came to the cemetery with fresh flowers—daisies, his mother's favorite—every year on November 27th. Today was no different in that aspect… but it seemed to Brynn that it was different in every other way.

It had been because of his mother that Voldemort had fled for the second time. It was just after she had gotten out of Hogwarts, Raleigh Weasley, back then it was still Raleigh Hampton, joined the Order of the Phoenix. Ron had told her about it, of course, he told her everything. The members were not too pleased with him for spilling their secret to someone so young at first, but they eventually warmed up to Raleigh being a member. When the battle finally came, the battle everyone thought would be the final one, Raleigh put a killing curse on Voldemort. Harry was there, of course, but he had been knocked unconscious and was virtually useless at the time. Raleigh's killing curse hadn't actually killed Voldemort, obviously. Everyone knows who, if anyone, is destined to kill Voldemort, and everyone knows that that person wasn't Raleigh Weasley. Most witches and wizards were unbeknownst to the prophecy regarding Harry Potter and the Dark Lord at that time, and most rejoiced, thinking Voldemort had been killed. But some knew better. Her curse had been very strong, and he had been weakened, and he fled, just as he had when he had failed to kill little Harry Potter many years before. They were back at square one.

For the next several years things were quiet. Raleigh and Ron got married and had Brynn. Harry and Hermione got married a few years later. Two years before Raleigh died, Kris, Shane, and Ste were all born. It wasn't too long after Ste's second birthday that it happened. Bellatrix Lestrange came after Raleigh to avenge her master's downfall. She succeeded in killing the young woman, along with two others, Aislinn Cooper and Rose Macarthur, who had been with Raleigh at the time. The fact that it had been that _particular_ woman who killed the three had made matters worse. She was the same woman who had killed Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. It had been hard on everyone. It still was.

"Happy birthday, Mum," Brynn whispered. He wiped away a single silent tear that was cascading down his cheek. He lowered the daisies to her grave. He thought of what his mother would think of him if she were still alive.

She would be ashamed.


	8. When Knowledge Defeats Him

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Seven: "When Knowledge Defeats Him"

_September 26, 1996-_

Ron took a deep breath. He glanced nervously over to the Hufflepuff table. This was ridiculous. He didn't like this Raleigh girl! How could he! He'd only met her once. But, then again, she had been really nice… and pretty… and she had seemed to like him…

But he fancied Hermione, right? But Hermione was a lost cause. He sighed to himself. Now here was a dilemma he had never before faced, and he had faced a lot of them. But he was making more of this than it was. It was just one silly date! He had to go over there sometime and tell her that he agreed to go. All right, he was stalling. What should he say to her? What should he do? But judging by the conversation they had already had the previous day, Raleigh seemed to be an expert at talking.

He looked across the table from himself, to Hermione. She was now deeply immersed in conversation with Harry, who was seated next to her. Ron couldn't help to notice that they were both staring a little too deeply into one another's eyes. For nothing more than a split second, something that felt remarkably like jealousy surged angrily through Ron. But then it was gone, replaced with a feeling of hollowness. He stood up from his seat at the table and made his way towards the Hufflepuffs, wondering if his friends would even notice his absence, and knowing the answer.

She was prettier than he remembered. Raleigh had shoulder-length blonde hair and large, eerie, gray eyes. She had a nice smile too, he noticed, as she chatted happily with one of her friends. He shook his head slightly and smiled in spite of himself. He could tell this girl was going to grow on him.

* * *

Harry and Hermione were alone in the common room that night. They weren't quite sure where Ron currently was and, although Harry wouldn't admit it, it wasn't his biggest concern at the moment. He was, after all, _alone_ in the common room with _Hermione_. He honestly couldn't recall a time when he had really been alone with her for a chance to just… talk. Well, besides that time in fourth year when he and Ron had been fighting, but that didn't count. He had been too stupid to notice the great girl right in front of his eyes back then.

But now he noticed. And now he felt oddly… nervous. This was his best friend for God's sake! He shouldn't be nervous with her… right? No, of course not, it was ridiculous.

She sat in the crimson armchair beside his facing the hot fire. An _incredibly_ hot fire, Harry noted. He loosened the tie underneath his robes and slumped back against his chair.

Then it occurred to him how close she was. The chairs they were sitting in were right next to each other. Resting peacefully on its armrest, her hand was only inches from his own. He could see, hear, feel her inhaling and exhaling breath. He tried to synchronize his breathing movements with her own.

He watched wordlessly as her deep, beautiful, chocolaty brown eyes rolled across the pages in front of her face. She held the book up with her right hand, and Harry noticed once again how close the left one was to his own. He was supposed to be doing a Potions essay at the moment, but no, Hermione Granger was much more interesting.

Her hand looked so smooth, so silky, it couldn't possibly be real. He felt that if he touched it, it would pass right through him. He came remarkably close to taking that hand in his own, to see if it was actually corporeal, but he didn't.

This wasn't working. Harry brought his quill to his mouth and began to chew thoughtfully. Were there newt or salamander eyes in Growth Potion? Or both?

His thoughts were interrupted once again by the girl seated next to him, deeply immersed in her book, and deeply oblivious to the fact that he was marveling at how beautiful she was. The skin on her face appeared to be just as soft as the skin on her hand, which was still lying dangerously close to Harry's own. Harry winced inwardly as he pictured the inevitable horrified reaction he would receive if he grabbed her hand, or stroked her cheek, or brushed her brown curls, which smelled of strawberry, out of her face… or if he kissed her, what would her reaction be to that?

* * *

"You like Quidditch?"

Raleigh looked at Ron, as if he had just asked her if the sky was blue. "Do I like Quidditch? Is it possible to live in the Wizarding World and _not_ like Quidditch?"

Ron chuckled. "I guess I'll take that as a yes."

Raleigh sighed sadly, "I'd try out for my House team if I wasn't so ruddy awful."

Ron laughed out loud, "Hey, that's not stopping me!"

"You're not awful!" she protested with an enthusiasm that surprised Ron. "You've got a lot of talent!"

Ron scoffed. "Raleigh, have you ever _seen_ me play?"

Raleigh shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Gryffindor won the cup last year," she offered feebly.

Ron scoffed again. "It was just a bloody fluke. I'm awful, truly, I am. The only reason I'm on the team is because there's no one else. Oliver Wood would slaughter us all if he could see what's become of his sacred position."

"No, Ron," Raleigh argued softly. "You've got talent. A lot of talent. And determination. I see it in your eyes when you play. And for a moment, it's just you and the Quaffle. But then, it's like all of a sudden you're snapped back into reality, and you remember the hundreds of people watching you and you lose your nerve. You can do it though, Ron! You've got it in you! I've seen it!"

Ron felt his ears turn deep crimson. He was surprised at how happy Raleigh's words made him.

* * *

Harry repositioned himself uncomfortably in the common room chair in which he was seated. Hermione had long since gone to bed, but he seemed to be suffering from an acute case of insomnia.

He was finding it harder and harder to focus on school. He was finding it harder and harder to distract his feelings. He thought it would work… at first. There was so much else to concentrate on here. His friends, his school work, the Order, Kali and Elita, Voldermort's rising… Hermione.

But now, more than ever, he found his thoughts drifting back to Sirius. He thought he should be sad. But he wasn't. He was just angry. It was a horrible, bitter anger that he had never felt before Sirius had fallen behind the veil.

He was angry with several people. He was beyond angry with Voldemort for planting the images of Sirius suffering in the Department of Mysteries in his head in the first place. He was angry with Mr. Weasley, if he hadn't been attacked by the snake, maybe Harry wouldn't have been so insistent on going to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius. He was angry with Dumbledore for not letting him know about his connection with Voldemort sooner, and not telling him the purpose of Occlumeny or what Voldemort could do with a connection with Harry at his disposal. He was angry with the Order for showing up in the Department of Mysteries; it had been _his_ fight, not theirs. He was angry with Lupin for holding him back when there was a tiny glimmer of hope in his mind that Sirius might still be alive. He was angry with the fates or the gods or whatever was up there looking down on him, because they obviously loved nothing more than to see him suffer on a daily basis.

But above all he was angry with himself. If anyone, he should've known that the visions of Sirius had been a lie. He should've known, above all else, that what you see is never what you get. He should've known… but he _hadn't_ known. And that's why he was so angry.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair once again. It had seemed rather bulky that entire night, but he hadn't dared to move on account of Hermione being so close to him before. But now he just didn't want to move, he was simply too weary. He then realized there was something under the cushion in his chair that was causing him to feel so uncomfortable. He reached under it and pulled out, of all things, a Muggle notebook. A Muggle notebook? It must belong to one of the Muggle-borns, Harry rationalized. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened it up to the first page. But "If you're reading this, you must be—" was as far as he got, for at that very moment a blood-curdling screech issued from the girl's dormitories. In haste, Harry shoved the notebook under the seat cushion, once again leaving it forgotten.


	9. Promise

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Eight: "Promise"

"Ow, ow, ow," Kali winced and she pulled herself up from the floor. "That was not at all pleasant," she muttered to herself.

It was late at night and she hadn't been able to sleep, so she had decided to go down to common room. She had been at the top of the staircase leading down from the Ravenclaw girls' dormitories when she had fallen. But "fallen" didn't seem to be the accurate term. It was like she had been ripped from the spot in which she had stood and everything had caved in around her. Swirling torrents of nameless colors and sounds fell with her. She was now at the bottom of the staircase, as she pulled herself up, she was uncomfortably aware of someone staring at her.

She looked around to the fireplace, the fire was dying, so there was very little light by which to see. But she could tell that there was someone—a young man—facing her direction. If Kali squinted, she could tell that his mouth was hanging open. She was a bit perturbed, if the boy saw her then why hadn't he helped her up? Well, so much for the idea that chivalry might still be alive.

Kali gasped as her eyes adjusted to the light. She realized in a mixture between horror and ecstasy that she knew this boy. Knew his face, knew his shaggy hair, knew his piercing eyes… all too well.

She must be dreaming. There was simply no way this could've happened… without Elita. "Sh—Shane?" She asked, her voice quavering uncontrollably.

The boy quite literally jumped out of the chair he had been sitting in and enveloped Kali in a huge bear hug. "Kali! Oh God, I missed you so much…"

It _was_ Shane! She didn't realize how much she had missed him until he was in her arms once again. She ran her fingers through his chestnut-colored hair.

He pulled away from her and took her face in his hands, as if to study it. Shane had always had a way of reading her thoughts, knowing exactly how she felt or what she was thinking. It was his eyes, Kali discovered, his deep, never-ending brown eyes that were able to search her soul. "I don't need to know what happened," he whispered soothingly, in a voice that almost made her shiver longingly. "All that matters is that you're okay." Kali saw a single, silent tear falling down his cheek. He pulled her close, his fingers running through her long dark hair, and kissed her passionately.

When he finally pulled away, she began to sob uncontrollably. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because the world's horrors, Voldemort and the traitor, were finally starting to sink into her mind. She didn't know. She didn't know _anything_. She continued to cry.

He didn't ask what was wrong. He simply held her. And for a long while, Kali wished nothing more than to stay in his embrace forever.

* * *

Elita screamed. She woke up from a nightmare only to realize that the nightmare was real. She _had_ to change the past. But it was impossible. The past cannot be changed—not like this. As if the fates themselves had heard her revelation, they ripped her away from time and space. But she couldn't leave yet! They hadn't changed anything! But how _could _they if the past couldn't be changed? She didn't understand. So she screamed out of fury and horror. She was falling…

Her eyes snapped open, still in the 6th year Gryffindor girls' dormitory… but it was different. She knew what had happened, but she still couldn't believe it.

She tiptoed silently over to the four-poster which had belonged to Hermione Granger a few moments ago. But now… it inhabited none other than her daughter. _Kris!_ For a moment Elita thought Kris would wake up, but she merely muttered something about snitches and cockroach clusters and turned over.

This was all wrong, what had they changed? She knew what had happened. She had somehow been taken back to her own time. Twenty-five years following where she had just been… _but how_? They never went back until they had changed something… Elita shuddered, for it hit her: how did she even know she was _supposed_ to change anything? She knew nothing about her power, she didn't know why she had it or exactly what it could do. Kali! What if she was still stuck twenty-five years in the past? Elita couldn't get back—what if Kali was stuck there forever—just like she had feared? Elita didn't know anything…

But she _did_ know that she had to talk to someone. The only person who knew her secret. She quietly tiptoed up to the boys' dormitories to wake Stephen Weasley.

* * *

Ste looked at her in horror. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, aghast. They sat alone in the common room. They had been talking for what was approaching two hours. Tiny glimmers of sunlight were beginning to peak out of the horizon.

"Because, Ste," Elita answered. "You're the only person who knows that I have the power to time-travel besides Kali. And you're the only one who knows that Kali's a Seer besides Dumbledore and me. And if Kali didn't come back, and I _can't_ get back, then she's stuck in the past!"

"I-I don't think she's trapped in the past," said Ste thoughtfully.

"How do you know?"

"Well, if she'd stayed in the past, I think we'd have a grown-up Kali on our hands, and I think she would've warned us of what was happening if that were true."

"I guess that makes sense…" said Elita, wondering why _she_ hadn't thought of that.

Ste studied the piece of paper Elita had handed him from her pocket. Written on it were the words _Singulus Alius_. Elita had given Ste the piece of parchment, but she hadn't told him about the notebook. It just didn't seem important compared to all the other recent happenings. "I've never seen a spell like this before, El," he told her quietly, changing the subject. "But what if it works?"

Elita looked at him, utterly confused. "Okay… so then it works. I know why I can travel through time."

"No," he corrected as he shook his head. "You only know _how_." He was quiet for several moments before he finally spoke. "Have you told Kali about this?"

Elita grew only more confused. "No, but why does that matt—"

"So you and I," he continued. "Are the only ones who know about this… this summoning spell thing?"

"Yes."

"How sure of that are you?" he asked, a steely note in his voice.

"Well, I think I'd remember telling someone about _that_," she replied.

Ste was silent again. He scratched his head thoughtfully, ruffling his red hair. "What if someone else knows?" He asked quietly. "Maybe you're not being sent back in time by some powers-that-be to help the greater good, maybe you're…"

"Maybe I'm what, Stephen?" she asked coldly, inwardly anticipating his answer.

Ste shifted uncomfortably. "Being… manipulated. Manipulated by something… not-so-good."

Elita was silent for a moment. She had never felt this stupid or this angry in her life. "I don't understand!" she screamed. "Why _then_? What happened in Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts that is so damned important for some 'not-so-good' guy?"

Ste was silent yet again. But for a very different reason. It seemed a great wave of sadness and grief had swept over him, turning his beautiful gray eyes cold. Elita wasn't quite sure why, but she took his hand in a gesture of comfort and apology.

Ste looked at her. "What if what happened in Harry Potter's sixth year has nothing to do with Harry Potter?"

"Wha—?"

"The traitor," Ste took a deep breath. "The traitor you told me about. He's older than we are, and has always been close to the Potters. He's flame-haired. Of course you would assume it was my dad," Ste did not sound cynical, however. He sounded thoughtful, and also scared. "But what if it's not him? What… what if you _are_ being manipulated by something evil? What if instead of going back to _change_ the past… you went back to confirm it?" Ste took another deep breath. Elita squeezed his hand tighter; she could tell this was killing him, she just wished she knew why. "So—so you told me… th—the time you were just in… you're the one that introduced my m-mum to my dad?"

"Well it was Kali's idea, but—" Elita stopped in mid-sentence. She suddenly understood. It all made sense. "We didn't change anything," Elita told herself in a hushed voice. "We confirmed it. God _damn it_!" she screamed. It all made sense. Every time she had gone back in time to "change" something before this—she realized she had only been confirming the events, and this was no different. Kali was right, whenever she had her visions, she had only been seeing the would-be future…

But how could it be possible? How could it be true? How could they have not seen it before? "How could I have been so _stupid_! We made sure that he'll betray the Potters! We thought it through a million times… There's got to be another explanation. I can't believe—"

She stopped when she realized that Ste was now in tears. She hugged him; it was the only thing she knew to do.

"It must've been the only way," Ste said through sobs. "If you're right—if your powers allow you to go back so you can change things—to change them for the better… If preventing him from being born was the _only_ way he wouldn't betray them, then it's his destiny. There's nothing else we can do about it."

Elita looked at him hopefully. "Maybe if we told the Order! Right this second! Then he wouldn't get a chance to—"

Ste handed her a letter that had been in his pajama pants' pocket and shook his head sadly, tears still flowing freely down his face.

Elita read the letter quickly. "When did you get this?" she demanded.

"Today."

Elita shook her head in disgust. "One day. ONE FUCKING DAY! If we had figured this out _one day ago_ then we would still have a chance!" Then an idea struck her. "Ste! The spell! The one I showed you—I could use it! I could use it to go back and tell the Order before he gets away—"

"No, Elita!" he said, so sharply it made her jump. "If you _are_ being manipulated God knows what that spell will do to you! We're just going to have to deal with this normally, as if we didn't know about the spell."

Elita looked over to Ste, who was still crying, but these tears were very different. His eyes, she noticed, were no longer cold, however burned with an undying fury.

He snatched the letter back from her and ignited it with the tip of his wand. He set it into the fireplace. His jaw was clenched. Elita could tell that it was taking every bit of Ste's willpower not to blow up the common room.

In a voice full of unspeakable loathing he whispered, "I'll kill him."

It was not a threat, Elita realized, but a promise.


	10. Sins of the Father

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Nine: "Sins of the Father"

_One day earlier…_

Forty-four-year-old Ronald Weasley knocked lightly on the door of his eldest son's flat. He waited. No answer.

Brynn was supposed to have shown up at Grimmauld Place two hours ago with their information, but he hadn't. This wasn't like Brynn at all. Ron had been worried about him lately; well, that wasn't exactly accurate. He had always been worried about Brynn, more so than Ste, at least. Ste had never had any problems making friends or finding his niche… or being happy. Not like Brynn.

Ever since Raleigh had died Brynn had been different. Ron had changed too, but Ron had been a grown man. It wasn't fair to Brynn, who had only been a small child at the time of his mother's passing. Ever since she had died… Brynn had been more jaded, more aloof, he kept more to himself. And for a child of a mere nine years at the time, that was certainly saying something. Brynn had always seemed like he was… searching for something, for lack of better phraseology. And Ron often thought that if Brynn kept looking so hard, he would never find what he was searching for.

He knocked again. No answer. Now he was really worried.

"_Alohamora_," he muttered. The door swung open.

Ron was not expecting to see what was before him. He warily stepped inside and surveyed the small flat. It was obviously abandoned, and there were papers and random household items scattered all over the floor, as if Brynn hadn't left on his own accord.

* * *

"Ron, are you absolutely sure he wasn't there? Did you check everywhere?" Harry demanded.

"Yes," Ron sighed. "I'm sure… He wasn't there, Harry." He was in the dining room of the Order's headquarters, Grimmauld Place, with one of his best friends. Hermione, his other best friend, had left moments ago. Urgent business, she had said.

Ron sat at the table, facing the bologna sandwich that Hermione had made him before she left, but food had never been further from his mind.

"Damn it!" Harry pounded his fist on the table angrily, causing Ron's tea to spill. "Oh, sorry," he apologized feebly as he picked up the pieces of the cup. "_Reparo_," he muttered.

"It's all right, mate. I wasn't planning on drinking it anyway, and now at least when 'Mione gets back she'll think I did." He chuckled wryly. He was quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say next. "This is my fault."

"What?" Harry's head snapped up. "What's your fault?"

Ron shrugged, not looking his friend in the eye. "We don't know where Brynn went. We don't know who his 'source' was. If I had asked him, if I had _made_ him tell me, then maybe we'd…"

"Ron, you have simply got to stop blaming yourself for everything," Harry sighed. "Brynn's an adult; he doesn't _have_ to tell you anything if he doesn't want to, despite how you feel about it. And besides, we'll find him. Thins will work out, they always do." Harry rubbed his temples wearily. "In the meantime, why don't you write to Ste? Tell him what's happening. Maybe it's not the wisest decision, but I think he's old enough to know what's going on with his own brother."


	11. No Rest for the Weary

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Ten: "No Rest for the Weary"

"Kris!" Elita said in a loud whisper, shaking her friend. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground: Kris was _not_ a morning person, but she _had_ to get into the Ravenclaw common room, and if anyone knew the password, it was Kris.

"Kris!" she said again. "Wake up!"

A loud, annoyed groan was the only response she got from the girl. Kris turned over and proceeded to ignore, and annoy, Elita.

"Come on, Kris! I need your help!"

Kris abruptly turned over and her eyes snapped open, although they were considerably unfocused. "_Elita_! How… wha—_bloody hell_…" she trailed off.

"I know, I'll explain everything later, right now I need the Ravenclaw common room password," she said urgently.

"Merlin's beard," Kris replied groggily.

"Come on, Kris! Just tell me!"

"No," Kris replied, shaking her head impatiently. "'Merlin's beard' is the password."

Elita blinked. "Oh. Well… thanks." And she was off.

* * *

It was six o'clock Saturday morning. Stephen Weasley was very tired, but he could not sleep. He kept on thinking… _one day_. If only they had realized who the real traitor was one day earlier. Time. It was a funny thing.

He pulled out the small piece of paper and read the words once again. _Singulus Alius_. He had been telling the truth earlier, never before had he seen a spell like this one. Maybe, just maybe, it would work. Maybe Elita could go back in time and warn someone about the traitor.

No, Ste realized. That would never work. Who would believe her? He wasn't even sure if he believed it himself…

_Brynn_. His older brother who had always protected him, always looked out for him. Brynn, his big brother who had given him his owl. Brynn, whom he had wanted to grow up to be when he was a little boy.

Brynn, who had betrayed them all.

Stephen Weasley had never been angrier in all of his life. How long had this been going on? How long had Brynn been giving information to Voldemort?

Ste was slightly comforted when he remembered that the deepest circle in hell was reserved for those who betray.

But if Elita went back in time and warned and warned the Order before Brynn disappeared… _Nothing would change_, Ste realized. No one would believe her. Elita wasn't close enough for the Order to trust entirely. And besides, Ste knew all well and good that you were _not_ supposed to change the past. Too many repercussions for every action…

And who was to say that they couldn't save themselves _now_, in the present? They'd managed to do it before. Just because they had a girl who happened to be able to time-travel at their disposal didn't mean they could just use her every time something went wrong! And again, there were consequences for every action. If somehow the Order _did_ find out about Brynn before he fled… who's to say the consequences wouldn't be worse? What if Brynn attacked—or even killed—someone? What if someone killed _Brynn_? Was Ste ready to handle that? He shuddered.

He turned over restlessly in his four-poster. All he knew was that this whole ordeal was giving him a huge headache.

But there was that idiot nagging "what if" in the back of his mind that just wouldn't leave him alone. _What if Elita could go back in time to stop Brynn from turning against them? _

No, that wouldn't work either. He remembered what he himself had said earlier that night_. If you're right—if your powers allow you to go back so you can change things—to change them for the better… If preventing him from being born was the _only_ way he wouldn't betray them, then it's his destiny. There's nothing else we can do about it._

He had been right.

He looked at the words on the tiny piece of parchment once again.

No. He ignited it with his wand tip and watched it disintegrate into ashes, and then extinguished the flame quickly before it could burn the flesh on his hand.

Ste decided that it was better this way. He had written a letter to his father telling him everything and sent it from the Owlery with Mercury after Elita had retreated to the girls' dormitories. Ron's reaction would certainly not be pleasant. Ste had requested they meet in Dumbledore's office, so he could explain everything, hopefully, with Dumbledore on his side. He would have to arrange that with the Headmaster in the morning. He knew his father would listen to reason if it came from Dumbledore… at least… he _hoped_ he would.

Elita's secret would not be a secret for very much longer. But maybe… since they didn't change anything… Ron already knew about Elita? Maybe Ron had known the two girls longer than Ste had himself… Time-travel is entirely too confusing, was Ste's last coherent thought before he drifted into an uneasy sleep, only to be awoken thirty minutes later by an impatient Connor wanting breakfast.


	12. Divination

**Author's Note:** Woot! This is the last chapter of part one. After this, there's an interlude chapter, and that's all I have completed so far. It's going to take a lot longer for me to get all of part two posted, so get yourself a good cup of coffee and a nice jigsaw puzzle ready!

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

Chapter Eleven: "Divination"

"Oh my God," said Kali in a hushed whisper. Her pale eyes traveled frantically between her two companions, as if hoping someone might say the whole charade was some elaborate joke. "That's so insane… it… it makes sense." She placed her hand over her mouth in shock. Shane sat in a kind of stunned trance; he hadn't said anything in quite a while.

Thanks to Kris, Elita had successfully found her way to the Ravenclaw common room. She made a mental note to buy her friend a butter beer later.

Elita had been so happy to know that Kali had indeed returned from the past safely, she had hugged her until Kali's respiratory system had been cut off and she turned blue in the face. Kali was spared from a violent choking death only by Shane grabbing Elita and embracing _her_ in turn. Elita was initially surprised by this, Shane wasn't the type of guy she would label touchy-feely, but she wasn't complaining. Shane had seemed to suddenly regain his sense of self, pulled away from his girlfriend's sister, and had cleared his throat rather awkwardly and demanded to know what was going on.

It had taken her and Kali the remainder of the night to explain to Shane where they had been for the past month, but maybe it wouldn't have taken quite so long if Shane hadn't kept on interrupting to ask questions and make comments. But when Elita had gotten to the part where herself and Ste had deduced that Brynn Weasley was the traitor that Kali had foretold of, Shane became uncharacteristically quiet.

"I just can't believe it… _Brynn_," Kali whispered. "How could he be capable of…? …Remember when we went with the Weasleys and the Potters to the World Cup after second year and I met Brynn for the first time? I had the hugest crush on him…"

"What?" This had apparently snapped Shane out of his trance.

"Oh, get over yourself, lover-boy," Elita groaned. "We have more important matters on our minds at the moment than your macho pride; for instance, how to go about getting the Order to believe that Brynn's the traitor. Damn! They don't even know there's a traitor in the first place. If we had only told them about your prophecy, Kal."

"But would they have believed me?" Kali questioned incredulously.

Shane rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily and closed his eyes for a moment. "Trust me, if the Order knows anything, it's not to take tip-offs for granted. They would have listened."

Kali and Elita exchanged nervous glances. "We didn't really have time to warn them, though," Kali remarked thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Elita agreed. "Kali got her little prophecy—or vision—or premonition—or whatever the hell you want to call it, and we barely had time to mull it over before—_whoosh_," she made a hand gesture that clearly indicated the two girls were sent into the past. Elita sighed. "And we're too late to warn them now."

"No, we're not!" Shane interjected heatedly. "We'll tell them about Brynn before he makes his move—whatever that is."

"No," Elita moaned dispiritedly. "Ron wrote to Ste telling him that Brynn was missing in action; he just showed me the letter. Whatever Brynn wanted to achieve he obviously already has. I think he might have faked his own kidnapping or something. I read Ron's letter and I got the impression that he thinks Brynn was abducted." She surveyed her comrades cautiously, mentally preparing herself for their inevitable chastisements. "Then I thought 'if only I could go back in time to warn them before Brynn ever went AWOL'… I thought about using the spell I told you about—"

"No!" Shane protested, leaning forward in his blue armchair so that he could look Elita directly in the eye. "You have no idea what that spell is capable of! And frankly, it looks like Dark Magic to me. Some Death Eater, like Brynn—" Elita shuddered involuntarily, Shane continued. "—Could've planted it in your bag and you would just be playing right into his hands if you attempted to work the incantation! Who knows what would happen if you tried! And even if it _did_ take you through time, and that is a big if, you can't just manipulate events to occur the way you want them to! It's not supposed to work that way!"

Elita scoffed and looked Shane over, attempting to appear intimidating. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips in anger. "I thought you were on our side," she said icily.

"You know I am, El," he sighed exasperatedly, like he was dealing with a small, disobedient child. His left elbow rested on the armrest while his right hand rubbed his temples. "But things don't always work the way you want them to! It's a little thing I like to call _life_. You just have to let events run their course."

"So, you're saying I should sit back and watch?" Elita asked heatedly.

"God, no! Merlin knows sitting back and watching when you're this close to the Order and impending doom could get messy—or fatal—or… fatally messy… But what I'm saying is you don't go back in time to try to change things whenever something doesn't go the way you'd like it to! God, if there's one thing my mother ever taught me it's that. Even if that stupid spell _does_ work—think of the consequences!" he snapped.

"He's right, Elita," said Kali evenly, looking from her boyfriend to her sister. "It's like I said before, there're so many things that could go wrong, so many things you could do that would only make matters worse! Please, don't put yourself in danger, El."

"And odds are, events would turn out just the same," said Shane. It's like what you said about you two going back and confirming the future." Kali seemed to understand, but Elita looked at him quizzically.

"Sorry?" she said, suddenly wishing she too was a Ravenclaw.

He merely shrugged. "It's a paradox, really."

"Yeah," Elita chuckled and said sarcastically. "That _really_ helps me to understand."

"But, thinking that way," he continued thoughtfully, more to himself than anyone, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "If you go back in time and you were _meant _to, then I suppose it's a good thing—" he was silenced by an angry glare from Kali that clearly meant for him to be quiet. He stood up and cleared his throat, "I'm going to see Dumbledore," he declared importantly. "Perhaps he'll have a solution to all of this mess."

* * *

"Nosebleed Nougat," Shane murmured. Thank God, he thought to himself as the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office jumped aside. He hadn't been in the office for so long he was afraid the password might have changed. He knocked lightly on the door. He heard an old, but powerful voice answer, "Come in."

"Ah, Shane," Dumbledore said. "I suppose Kali and Elita have returned by now?"

"What—how did you—" Shane knew Dumbledore was a genius, but this was just unnerving. Surely the girls hadn't had time to see the Headmaster yet?

"Your friend, Stephen Weasley, came to me just moments ago, on his way to breakfast I believe, asking my permission to have a little… conference about certain recent happenings with his father, whom he's just written a letter to. And also, your mother," Dumbledore said, "Was kind enough to inform me of several things of which, I admit, I was not aware of before."

Shane looked around the office and, to his shock, noticed his mother sitting in a chair across from Dumbledore's desk. This did not ease Shane's already acute confusion. It was not very often that Shane became confused, and so far he did not like the feeling. "Mum?" he queried.

"I already know," said Hermione softly to her son. "About Brynn, I mean. And I expect Ron and your father have only just found out; Ste wrote a letter to Ron, you see, explaining to him that Brynn had turned traitorous and was passing valuable information to Voldemort and his supporters. They're probably a touch in denial at the moment, especially Ron. Someone will have to tell them the whole story, and sooner rather than later." She looked to Dumbledore. "That's what this little 'conference' is about, right Professor?"

He nodded. "If Ron and Harry have, in fact, already received Stephen's letter," Dumbledore said. "And the information that you have given me is correct, Hermione, which I have no doubt that it is, that leads me to assume that they will be Flooing here shortly."

"I left early, before the post arrived," Hermione informed the old Headmaster, "but I'm almost entirely certain that Ste's letter came today."

"What?" Shane looked from his mother to Dumbledore then back again. "What information? What was it you said about a conference? What do you know about what's going on, Mum?"

She sighed deeply. "Well, obviously I knew the girls went back in time," Hermione answered, sounding tired. "I was there, you know. I met Kali and Elita when I was sixteen. They've obviously changed nothing of the past."

"That's what they figured," Shane muttered.

"Shane," said Dumbledore seriously, "I need you to collect your brother and sister, Kali and Elita, and Stephen and you are all to report to my office as soon as possible. I believe several of you are owed some explanations, and you will receive them shortly."

Shane nodded in bewildered agreement. Before he turned to leave he asked Hermione, very pointedly, "How do you know that Dad and Ron are Flooing over here? Maybe Ste's letter requested Ron, but…" Shane shook his head, at a loss for words, and then continued. "And how could you _possibly_ know that Brynn's the traitor?"

Hermione's face gained a sort of glazed expression, as if she were remembering something. To Shane's immense surprise, she let a small smile escape her lips. "Call it… divination."

* * *

"BRYNN'S _WHAT_?" Harry roared. They were once again at the Order's headquarters. Ron had shown Harry an interesting letter from Ste, his youngest son.

"I—I don't know!" Ron spluttered. Harry gaped at his best friend who appeared to be near tears. "Ste—Ste's letter was short," he explained as if Harry hadn't read it for himself. "Something about the Order and Brynn betraying us—but how could that be! And how would Ste know? Even if he _had_ betrayed us—which he didn't—the last person he'd tell is Ste! I mean… it—it's just r—ridiculous," Ron chuckled, very nervously. "Ste asked that I Floo over to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore's office. He said they all needed to explain some things…" he said shakily.

"Well, you're certainly not going alone," said Harry decidedly. "We're going together to see what all this mess is about." In a few quick strides he was at the mantel. He took a handful of powder and doused it over the flames, which were crackling merrily, turning them a shocking emerald green.

* * *

Hermione sat tensely in a chair across from Albus Dumbledore's desk. Nothing had been said since her son departed to fetch the other children. Hermione found she couldn't keep her thoughts from wandering.

It was hard for her to believe that soon Hogwarts would have to go on without Dumbledore. He was retiring at the end of the school year. Just the mere thought of it brought tears to her eyes, and she hadn't even attended the school in over twenty-five years! And the man was very old, after all. Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly morbid, she couldn't help but wonder how long the man had left.

She came to her former Headmaster's office a few short days ago when Ron had come to Grimmauld Place, utterly shaken by the abrupt disappearance of his eldest son. But it wasn't abrupt to Hermione. She had been waiting for it for quite some time.

Dumbledore had asked her to come here today, though. She knew it had to do with the Rollins sisters. She had known the two girls since she was sixteen, so had Harry and Ron. The three of them also knew that the twins had special abilities, abilities that normal witches and wizards did not have.

When she first met the girls so many years ago she knew there was something odd about them even before she even had reason to speculate. She, of course, eventually discovered just what it was that was so strange about the sisters. It was odd, Hermione thought, that she thought of the events in her sixth year at Hogwarts nearly a lifetime ago, but for Kali and Elita Rollins it had been only a matter of hours.

Hermione had told Ron when they were sixteen, which was necessary under the… _circumstances_, and Raleigh had found out too, that couldn't be helped. And obviously, Harry had eventually found out as well. But none of the Order or any of the trio's other friends were ever informed of these of remarkable young ladies. It was simply too dangerous. But after today, it was quite possible everyone would know everything. _No, not everything,_ Hermione told herself. _She wouldn't allow that. It was much, much too dangerous._ If she let anyone know of events to occur in the future—

"Hermione…" Dumbledore sighed deeply. He was very tired, Hermione could tell. "Please don't blame yourself for what has happened. You of all people know that time-travel is a very risky business, indeed, and I would assume that—"

He was interrupted by a loud banging noise in his fireplace, and two men entering through it, brushing ash and dust off their robes. Harry and Ron both appeared very stricken to see Hermione in Dumbledore's office.

"Ah, gentlemen," Dumbledore said coolly. "Perfect timing. In fact, I believe," he paused for a moment, as if to listen to the air around him. "There are quite a few people waiting outside the door just now to explain things to us. It seems we have a very complicated situation on our hands." He cleared his throat and spoke so that someone outside the door would be able to hear him, "Come in."

* * *

The six of them had been standing outside the office door for a while, and they had come to the conclusion that Dumbledore was certainly not talking to himself. Kris had been convinced it was her mother, saying she would know her voice anywhere. Elita guessed that was because Kris vividly remembered all the times her mother had scolded her, which must have been quite often, she decided with a smirk. Ste and Kris seemed determined on hearing what Mrs. Potter and Dumbledore, who seemed to have lowered their voices, were conversing about. Shane stood propped against a wall, arms folded, eyes closed, refusing to say anything to anyone. Meanwhile Elita, who could not hear a thing through the heavy door and seriously doubted that either Kris or Ste could, was bored to tears.

"He said to come in," Ste whispered to them.

"_Finally_," Elita muttered under her breath. Obediently, Elita, Kris, Ste, Kali, Shane, and Aiden all walked into the elaborately decorated office, Aiden gazing around the room in noticeable awe.

Elita looked around the room. Kris had been right, she thought to herself. Mrs. Potter was seated across from Dumbledore, looking somewhat anxious for a reason Elita did not know. To her great surprise, standing by the fireplace were none other than Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. When had they gotten here?

The two men seemed like completely different people than they were hours ago. Well, Elita thought, that's not _exactly_ accurate considering the events that had transpired hours ago for Kali and herself, had in fact been years for the three forty-somethings currently inhabiting the headmaster's office.

The teenagers whom Kali and Elita had met were like alter egos of the men standing before them. These grown men, respectable, talented wizards, were Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. But the boys she and her sister had recently become acquainted with; funny, carefree, Quidditch-playing sixteen-year-olds with nothing but girls and racing brooms on their minds were Harry and Ron. But no, the more Elita thought about it the more she had trouble distinguishing Harry from Mr. Potter. The adult Mr. Potter seemed remarkably similar to the sixteen-year-old Harry, albeit taller and more aged.

Hermione, of course, had aged as well. She retained her sense of caution, but seemed softer and less intense than she has as a teenaged girl.

Ron, however, was noticeably different. He had grown up. He still retained many of his sixteen-year-old mannerisms, Elita noticed, but he was more of an adult now.

But Harry… why wasn't their much of a difference between adult Harry and sixteen-year-old Harry? Elita shuddered inwardly as she realized it was not because Harry hadn't grown up like his friend Ron, but because he had already been an adult at sixteen. Elita tried to imagine what she would have done in Harry's situation, the weight of the world on her shoulders. She would have cracked under the pressure, she realized, who wouldn't have? _Harry wouldn't have_, she answered herself. Harry came out of it, not exactly unscathed, but virtually intact. Elita's heart swelled in sympathy for this man, who, before the school year began, she had known only as The Famous Harry Potter and her Friend's Father. She felt like she personally knew this man now… knew him like he was her friend. And the concern of a friend overcame Elita as she pondered the question, has Harry Potter ever actually gotten to be a child? Has he ever had the luxury of being carefree and innocent like his peers once had? It was a chilling thought, because Elita knew the answer.

Harry Potter tried to be strong and brave because it was what the world needed. And a selfless person like Harry Potter would not stop to consider his own needs when others needed _him_. Elita was either impressed or appalled by that quality, to distinguish exactly which would be virtually impossible, she knew. She was abruptly ripped from her reverie by the old, tired voice of her headmaster.

"I believe," Dumbledore began. "That there are quite a few people here today who are owed some explanations. Who would care to start?"

Kris cleared her throat. "Erm—Professor? What exactly are we all doing here? All of a sudden Kali and Elita are back. I don't understand what happened and Shane's conveniently neglected to tell us anything about why we're here," she glared angrily at her twin brother. "And… what do you mean 'explanations'?" She finished lamely.

"Well," Dumbledore said, quite calmly. "You, your brothers, and Stephen are here on account of your parents, whom I trust, believe you are all mature enough to know the truth about what is going on," he glanced over to the adults and Hermione inclined her head slightly, Ron and Harry simply stood rooted in their places, looking utterly bewildered. "As I understand it, today is the day all of you find out exactly what is going on." Kris and Aiden exchanged equally mystified glances. "Kali and Elita are here, however, to do the explaining. To some of you more than others… but I must ask you to be cautious and aware, very aware, of what you say. And I also ask," he added, with a sidelong glance at Hermione, "That not everything be revealed today, some things aren't meant to be known, not yet, at least. We just need the relevant information pertaining to how these two young ladies," he gestured toward Kali and Elita, "Know that Brynn Weasley has betrayed us…" Hermione nodded silently. Aiden blanched, Kris gasped, Ron grimaced, Harry scoffed, but everyone else remained quite calm.

"What!" Kris screeched.

"Kris," Hermione said in a steely voice. "Let them explain. I know that it's a lot to take in, but you have to trust me. Trust everyone here."

"I'm afraid it's true." Dumbledore sighed wearily and suddenly looked very, very old. "Brynn has betrayed the Order of the Phoenix to Lord Voldemort. But exactly what information he has divulged is not yet known to me."

"Come on!" Kris yelled. Hermione, who would usually have objected to her daughter behaving in this manner, said nothing. "If I can't trust Brynn," Kris continued. "I might as _well_ not trust anyone! I can't believe everyone's going along with this! Brynn's like a big brother to me and you lot are all saying he's… he's…" she glanced wildly around the room, desperate for some support. "Dad?" she looked abruptly to her father. "Do you believe this rubbish?"

Harry faltered for a moment and looked at his daughter lovingly. "I'm not sure what to believe, love. But… I think it'd be best if we listened to what everyone had to say before we make any final decisions."

The room was quiet for what seemed like eternity. The tension was almost unbearable to Elita. All eyes were focused on Kris.

Kris took a deep breath, as if mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do. She looked Dumbledore straight in the eye, and although reluctantly, grudgingly, and in an annoyed fashion… she nodded.

"Right," said Dumbledore, businesslike once more. "I'm afraid I don't know this tale quite as well as some people in the room. So a volunteer to begin…" he trailed off.

"I'll start, but I'll have to do some background explaining, I suppose." Kali volunteered. Elita noticed Kris and Aiden exchange questioning looks once again. Kali took a deep breath and surveyed everyone in the room. It looked like the girl was preparing to give an award-winning speech. "Ever since I was very young, I've had… unnaturally good instincts, you might say. I'd… know about things… before they'd happen. Obviously, since I'm Muggle-born, my parents didn't think anything of it, they didn't know to. I first really knew something was off one day in primary school. An old grade-school rival of mine, Bree, tried to play a little trick on me one day. She put glue in my seat the last day before summer holidays. I walked into class, but for some reason… I knew I shouldn't sit in the seat she'd put glue in—the seat I'd sat in the entire year. It was an odd feeling, but knowing, even then, that me gut instincts almost always were in my favor—I picked another seat. It was really brilliant because she was the last one in class and she had to sit—oh, never mind, I'm getting off track.

"And then Elita and I received out Hogwarts letters. It was around that time she told me that odd things were happening to her as well. She told me that at first it was like getting awful cases of déjà vu, but then she realized it wasn't déjà vu at all. She was going back in time. But back then, it was only for minutes."

"Wha—" Kris began to interrupt, but Hermione held up a hand to silence her.

"Yes," Elita cut in. "I would, oh say… walk out of a room, and then all of a sudden I would be back in that room again, like I had been minutes earlier, but not like I'd Apparated or anything, just sort of like a few minutes repeated themselves. I'm sorry; it's very difficult to explain to someone who hasn't experienced it."

"We didn't tell anyone about our… _gifts_," continued Kali. "I warned Elita to be very cautious. She appeared to have no control over her power." She sighed. "When we got to Hogwarts in our first year, I told you, Professor Dumbledore," she said looking towards the old man, "about our… abilities."

"Mine too?" Elita asked, perplexed. "You never told me you did that."

"Anyway," her sister continued, ignoring Elita. "He seemed not at all surprised when I told him about us, which I didn't give much thought to at the time, I figured he had seen much stranger things than two eleven-year-old girls with semi-rare powers. He told me that there hadn't been a true Seer, which I found out I was, at Hogwarts in quite some time. He also told me, quite frankly, that he had never before heard of a case like Elita's. 'But anything is possible, especially in the Wizarding World,' he said, I noticed he sounded a touch more worried as he said this, but I didn't comment."

"It was in second year when I went back in time longer than a period of a few minutes," Elita said. "I went several years back in time that day and I had never been more scared in my life. I didn't know what to do! I found a bathroom and cried for about three hours before all of a sudden, I was back home in my own time! I didn't understand what was going on or why on earth it was happening to me. It was truly frightening. But, over time, I slowly gained more control over my… abstract power. I learned how to go back in time by force of will, but I could only go back a few minutes, which didn't exactly come in handy. If it was five o'clock I could _maybe_ go back to four fifty-five. _Whoopie_," she added sarcastically. "I also learned that I was able to take people with me. Kali had the misfortune of being my guinea pig. Remember, Kal?" she asked with a sidelong glance to her sibling. "When we were late to Charms class that one day." She took her eyes off Kali and began to speak to the entire room once more. "I went back a few minutes and accidentally took her with me."

"That was pretty frightening, I'll tell you. Going back in time's a real rush. But anyway, a few weeks after that incident," said Kali. "I Saw something."

"This was in our second year, as we said," Elita interrupted. "Before Kris and Ste were on the Gryffindor team. If you'll recall, we were ruddy awful with the exception of Eve. It was our match against Slytherin and Eve Longbottom, who was Seeker at the time, was really good and, I might add, our only shot at winning the Cup."

"Elita—" Shane interjected. "I know you love Quidditch, but are you sure that this is relevant?"

"Patience is a virtue, Shane," Elita chastised gently. "I'm getting there. Tension had been mounting for a while and we would do just about _anything_ to make sure Gryffindor won this match."

"But then I got the vision I was talking about earlier," Kali said. "It was Eve. She was going to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts so she was running down the stairs and fell, which caused her to break her arm. It was nothing serious, but she wouldn't have been able to play in the game, and there was no reserve Seeker, so Gryffindor would've had to forfeit. I had just seen Eve a few minutes before I got my vision, and she had been on her way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Class was due to start in a few moments, so my vision would have had to have been five minutes from taking place at the most. In second year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had Transfiguration together so Elita and I were at on our way there—"

"And since Eve was going to Defense Against the Dark Arts she was on the opposite end of the castle! But we had to do _something_! No way on God's green earth were we going to hand over the Cup to Slytherin!" Elita exclaimed. "We _would've_ risked being late, only McGonagall had sworn she would take fifty points from each of us if we—heh, I mean, _I_—was tardy one more time. And we probably wouldn't have made it in time to stop Eve from falling anyway."

"And then it happened," Kali said cryptically.

"We went back in time about five or ten minutes, enough to stop Eve from falling down the stairs. The event itself was nothing spectacular, I've gone back that far before, but it was what _caused_ it. I hadn't even tried to go back in time, but it still wasn't like I did it on accident either… it was just like a reflex. Like dodging a bludger before it has time to register what you're doing."

"That was when we realized that her time-traveling abilities seem to react to my visions. It happened a few times after that too, but like I said, they were just visions, little things."

"On one of our little adventures, though. I was caught." Elita looked at Ste. "I was really lucky it was Ste, I don't know what would've happened if it had been someone else. Time-travel is very risky. I knew very well that it was incredibly dangerous to be meddling with it. Many people believe that things like time-turners should be outlawed totally. So, if someone found out about my power… what I could do… Merlin only knows what would become of me. Luckily, Ste would never dream of telling anyone. And I hope all of you feel the same way," she said as she surveyed the room.

"Well, anyway, a few weeks ago, I got something a little more than a vision," said Kali.

"It was a real prediction—a prophecy, I mean. I wrote what she said down for later, and lucky I did too, I didn't know Seers couldn't remember predictions they'd made! This prophecy, it said there was a traitor in out midst. 'He's close to the ones he holds dear, but holds them far away.' That part was a little cryptic. It mentioned he's flamed-haired and older than the receiver of the prophecy, which would be Kali. We…" Kali looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione rather guiltily. "Rather assumed it was Ron. But can you blame us? Who else could it have been?"

"And then the same thing happened as it did on that day with Eve Longbottom, or that's what we thought," Kali said. "We were sent back in time. We were sent to you three's," she gestured at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "sixth year a Hogwarts." There was a stunned silence on Kris and Aiden's part. "We were very confused. We didn't know what we were there for or how we were supposed to stop Ron from turning traitor!"

"I was scared to death my powers weren't working correctly," Elita said softly. "I was afraid I'd stranded us there. I'd never been in a different time for so long!"

"And to top it all off," said Kali, "We weren't sure what we were supposed to do! "How were we supposed to stop Ron from betraying the Potters—?"

At this point Ron made like he was going to interrupt, but clearly thought better of it.

"We also noticed," Kali continued, a little smugly. "That our 'traitorous' friend had a crush on Hermione, er—Mrs. Potter," she added hastily. "But she was 'Hermione' to us then," she said apologetically.

Hermione looked over to Ron, her eyebrows raised, but said nothing.

"We didn't want to see it go down like that," said Kali. "We knew Hermione and Harry would end up together, sometime soon, and we knew Ron would get jealous."

"Unless," said Elita, "we could find someone to get his mind off Hermione. And who better to do that than his future wife? Enter Raleigh. We, or Kali, actually, introduced them to each other, more or less."

"But," said Kali, a definite somber note in her voice. "What we didn't realize was that we weren't in the past to change the future, we were there to confirm it. I've recently discovered that prophecies are very different from visions."

"What?" Kris snapped. "What are you talking about? How were you two confirming the future?" She, along with her younger brother, appeared genuinely confused.

"Well, they sure didn't change anything," said Harry. "Otherwise we wouldn't remember you two from our sixth year. Everyone thought you'd died or disappeared. But we—"

He was interrupted by his daughter. "I still don't understand about the traitor. I'd like to assume that Ron's not it, because if he _is_, he is standing at an uncomfortably close proximity to my father under the circumstances." Kris stated. "Not to mention he could kill us all at any given mom—"

"Let's think," Elita said exasperatedly. "We've all been friends for a long while, right? I can think of a redhead who's very close to the Potters, older than us, and who isn't Ron, er—Mr. Weasley. This same redhead would benefit greatly from Ron meeting Raleigh, because without Ron meeting Raleigh, he would've never been born."

"_Brynn_," said Aiden, in a barely audible whisper.

"Bingo," Elita confirmed.

"NO!" Ron bellowed abruptly. Everyone turned to face him. "Brynn—Brynn would never—"

"It's true," said Hermione quietly, but firmly. She was still sitting in her chair across from the headmaster's desk. Elita took into consideration how ashen-faced she was. The room watched as a silent tear made its way down Hermione's cheek.

"HOW?" Ron screamed. "HOW THE HELL COULD YOU KNOW THAT?"

"I can't tell you, Ron," Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice level, but it was coming dangerously close to breaking. The rest of the room continued to watch silently. "Not here… not with the children… But I know it's true. I'm sorry, Ron. I'm so sorry."

"Elita," Ste said timidly, as if afraid he shouldn't speak. "You've forgotten to tell them something. About the incantation."

Elita sighed deeply. She was halfway hoping Ste would forget about that. Kris groaned. "There's more?"

"What incantation?" asked Aiden seriously.

"A few nights ago, actually it was years ago considering it was while we were still in the past, I found this small piece of parchment in my bag," Elita explained, avoiding, for some reason of which she wasn't quite sure, mentioning the notebook. She had never told Ste about it, either. So, who was to know the difference? She continued, "There was an incantation written on it. In my own handwriting, explaining that it was used for time travel and requires great concentration and an advanced state of mind. Funny thing is, I don't remember writing anything of the sort. Ste, do you still have it?"

Ste nodded wordlessly, extracted the parchment from his pocket, and handed it to Elita, who showed it to everyone.

"I've never seen a spell like that," said Aiden. "It looks like—"

"Dark magic?" Ste offered. "That's what we thought too."

"And I don't have to say it myself. Someone else can. I can be sent to anytime by someone else. _Anyone else_ who has the concentration to do it. But that's pretty much all I know." She folded the piece of parchment and placed it back in her pocket. She wasn't sure if Dumbledore had seen her, but if he had, he didn't object.

There was a moment of silence before the old Headmaster said. "Well, I think all the students have heard what they needed to hear. I'll be seeing you all this evening at dinner."

The six exited the beautifully decorated office, Kris and Aiden looking rather dazed.

They didn't even notice when Elita slipped away from the group.

* * *

Why was this happening? To her? Why did she have this power? What was so special about _her_? Questions she had asked herself countless times before were now beginning to resurface in her mind's eye. She was unpleasantly jolted out of her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she spun around. It was Hermione.

"M—Mrs. Potter! You scared me!" she said lamely.

"I'm sorry, Elita," she apologized. "But there's something I must tell you and it can't wait." By the tone of urgency in her voice, Elita had enough sense to shut up and listen. She waited for her friends' mother to continue. "You must go back."

Elita thought she'd misheard. "S—sorry?"

"That incantation you showed us earlier, it's not a setup or a trick. It works. But it _is_ Dark Magic. If the Ministry knew about it, which I'm positive they don't, I'm sure it would be outlawed. You see, you're not the only one it can affect."

Elita was stunned by this life-changing revelation. "S—so," she said, not recognizing the sound of her own voice. "You're telling me th—that that spell…"

"Can affect anyone, yes. If I were to say the incantation with enough skill and concentration while thinking of a certain time I would, most certainly, end up there."

Reality dawned on Elita like a slap in the face. "So—so you're telling me—everything Kali and Shane have told me is true? That I—I'm being manipulated?"

"Yes," replied Hermione calmly.

"B—but why?"

Hermione sighed deeply. "I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly. It has a lot to do with your sister—and how she's a Seer. I believe whoever is manipulating you is an extremely talented Legimens. He seems to have reached new heights in the study of Legimancy. I believe whoever is doing this to you has been implanting false visions of the future into your sister's mind. But I don't believe it's been going on for very long. Maybe a year at the most."

"W—what are you saying?"

"I believe that whoever is doing this to you is in such an advanced state of mind and Legimancy, he is not only able to implant visions into Kali's mind, but is able to actually work through _time_ to do so. I believe he used this method in combination with several advanced memory and memory replacement charms. If the situation wasn't so dire I believe I would find it quite fascinating."

"So, you're telling me," said Elita, now somewhat miffed by Hermione's fascination with her freaky situation. "That all the times I've gone back in time have never _actually_ happened. They're just mere bi-products of some psychopath's attempt to get me to hand-deliver his right-hand-man to him?"

Hermione smiled nervously. "In… a manner of speaking." She hastily added, "It's not nearly as simple as that, though. Legimancy is widely considered the most complex, most difficult, most obscure branch of magic. This is because the concepts of the study are so hard for the human mind to comprehend, you see? As to why he implanted the memories of the two of you going back in time to do small things, like stop Eve Longbottom's arm from breaking, was, I think, to give the two of you the false sense that there was some greater good at work. He wanted to lure you into his trap. And, he was extremely lucky that the two of you were Muggle-born, otherwise I think your suspicions would have aroused at a _much_ earlier date than this. But, I'm positive that the prophecy your sister made and the fact that the two of you have just skipped twenty-five years through time _actually_ happened. It _had_ to have happened for Voldemort—if indeed he is the perpetrator—to get what he wanted. _Brynn_."

"Because Ron and Raleigh had to have us introduce them so they would get together. And they obviously had to get together to have Brynn," Elita said, dazed.

"Exactly!" said Hermione, obviously thrilled that Elita had caught on.

"But why me?" Elita asked desperately. "Why some nameless, faceless Muggle-born when he could have chosen some respectable pureblood who would have gone back in time willingly?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, and then regained composure. "Your sister, Elita. She's a _true_ Seer. So, if my hypothesis is correct, the instances you went back in time to change something, like Eve Longbottom's broken arm for example, you really didn't _change _anything, do you understand? It was never _destined_ for Eve to break her arm, it was destined for _you_ to stop her from doing so."

It was like all of a sudden Elita woke up from a dream and saw everything from an entirely new, and clear, perspective. "Voldemort! It's _him_ who's doing this to us, I know it!"

Hermione hesitated for a moment. "I'm not going to lie to you, Elita—that is a very distinct possibility."

Elita felt numb. For some reason, she couldn't make herself react to the news she'd just heard. She wasn't panicked or scared or angry, she was just… blank. "Kali and I helped Ron and Raleigh get together. If it hadn't been for Kali saying he wasn't seeing anyone… then they never would've dated and… Brynn never would have been born…"

"Yes," Hermione said sadly. "I'm sure Brynn has been an _incredibly_ useful spy. We've always told him everything—never doubted his trust. I'm sure his being means a great deal to Voldemort."

Elita paused for a moment, her brain swamped with new—and terrifying—information. "So it's virtually impossible to change the past?" she asked Hermione, suddenly thinking everything she had believed for years was wrong.

"Erm—" Hermione seemed to not quite know how to respond to this. "Yes—er, no. Well, I think we'll just go with yes for now, but _do_ remember, it isn't always that cut and dry."

At the time, Elita wasn't quite sure what she meant, but she nodded to show her understanding anyway.

"Like I was saying, you need to go back."

"But why?" Elita demanded, still not understanding.

"Because. Oh, it's hard to explain." Hermione looked to the ceiling, as if the answer would be written there for her. "Our sixth year counterparts need a little reminding that we can't change the past."

Elita had the distinct suspicion that Hermione was deliberately not telling her everything, but she didn't object to this explanation, seeing as her brain was already swarming enough as it was.

"All you have to do is concentrate on the date you're going back to. December 4th, 1996, 3:00 in the afternoon. It's been a while since you've disappeared and Dumbledore has told the school that you've moved back to France. Go to the lake, and you'll find Ron, Raleigh, and myself reading the Wednesday addition of the _Daily Prophet_. It is _very important_ that you go back to this _precise _moment, do you understand?" Elita nodded, Hermione continued. "Pull me aside and tell me the gist of everything I've just told you. Tell me that you know an incantation that will allow people to travel through time. Just tell me that giving me that information is what you're supposed to do and I'll understand."

Elita didn't dare question her; she thought her mind would explode from the pressure. Later she would ask herself why she trusted Hermione. She would wonder how Hermione came about all of this information when not even Dumbledore himself had brought it to her attention before. She would ask herself why she wasn't at all suspicious after someone seemingly as trustworthy as Hermione turned traitorous. She believed it was because she wanted so badly to think that there was still good in the world, that there were still people on her side and willing to help her, that she hadn't given Hermione's advice a second thought.

"Go now," Hermione instructed.

Elita closed her eyes and concentrated on December 4th, 1996 3:00 P.M. "_Sigulus Alius_," she muttered, her right hand holding her wand in her robe pocket. She felt a familiar sinking sensation as the world disappeared around her…


	13. Interlude

**IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ! Author's Note:** Sorry folks, but it's going to be a mighty lengthy wait in between chapters from here on out. The previous chapters I completed writing a long, long time ago and have just been revising (which is why I have posted them so quickly. No, I didn't write them all in one day; it took me several months, as a matter of fact, to get all of the kinks worked out, because my plot is so damned complicated). I have my entire story divided into seven, if you can believe it, parts. This ends the first part. Considering school will be starting up again Monday, Lord knows how long the wait will be in between chapters. Updates will, most probably, be somewhat sporadic.

**Another Author's Note: **If there is anyone out there reading this interested in being a beta for yours truly (as I am dire need of one) please contact me. My e-mail address and screen names are listed on my profile.

**Disclaimer:** see prologue.

"Interlude"

There was nothing in the world Skye Cooper hated more than being left out of things. She had been left out of everything her entire life. No one ever saw fit, it seemed, to give her information.

It had taken until she was ten years old for her father, Dorian, to tell exactly how her mother had died. Aislinn Cooper had been in the Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization working unceasingly against You-Know-Who. She was killed the same night that Skye's aunt—her mother's sister—Rose Macarthur, and Ste Weasley's mother—Raleigh. Skye didn't know why Dorian had waited so long to tell her this; what Aislinn Cooper sacrificed was something to be proud of, Skye knew. Before her father had told her, when friends had asked her bluntly what had become of her mother, she hadn't been able to give them a straight answer. Skye understood, in a way, where Dorian had been coming from. Her mother's side of the family had been torn apart by the first War, leaving Aislinn an orphan. Aislinn's father—Skye's grandfather—had been tortured and died at the hands of Death Eaters, but his body had never been found. Skye knew that her father just didn't want to subject her to those gruesome details; he had wanted her to have as normal a childhood as possible. Nevertheless, Skye had been angry with Dorian for a while; he was the only family Skye had, and if he wasn't completely honest with her…well… Skye didn't want to think about that.

And now it was happening all over again! She hated it when people thought she was too young or naïve to handle the truth! Any truth is better than a pack of lies, because lies always get found out, and then it's ten times worse than the truth in the first place.

It had all begun with Kali and Elita Rollins. They had disappeared. Well, not "disappeared" exactly—Dumbledore had told the students that they had gone to be with their mother, who was very ill. But Shane didn't buy it, so Skye didn't either. He thought that Kali would have told him before just vanishing like she did. This in mind—any number of horrible things could've become of them! They could have been tortured by Death Eaters—or You-Know-Who himself, like what had happened to her grandfather.

But no! Skye had seen them walking down the hall on her way to breakfast with Kris, Shane, Ste, and Aiden. They didn't even bother to say hello after not seeing each other for a month! It was all just so frustrating. She had hoped Shane would at least tell her what was going on; he was always ever so polite towards Skye. But no, Shane didn't even glance at her. She just didn't get it.

Dumbledore had informed the concerned populace of the school at breakfast that Kali and Elita's mother had recovered mostly from her sickness and had insisted upon the twins' returning to school.

Most of the students seemed to swallow this tale, basically because they wanted to believe that they were safe and sound at Hogwarts School. But Skye, whose curiosity had always gotten the better of her, didn't believe this cover story for a minute. She vowed to herself to uncover the truth. Skye Cooper was _not_ going to be kept in the dark any longer.

* * *

Ste and Shane sat in the Great Hall playing Wizard Chess, but Ste couldn't seem to concentrate. He had asked Shane to play in hopes of being distracted from his thoughts. But his plan wasn't working. All he could do was think about was her. Maybe it was because Brynn, whom he had thought of as his role model, had turned out to be the scumbag traitor he was, and as a result Ste needed, now more than ever, someone close. Someone to confide in. Someone to love…

He kept on turning around in his seat when he thought Shane was concentrating on the game to catch glimpses of her. Kris was over at the Slytherin table, deep in conversation with Blake. Ste liked Blake, they were friends, but he couldn't help feel a sharp pang of jealousy towards him now. He knew that Kris had many friends, but Ste was her _best_ friend, shouldn't she spend more time talking with him than with Blake? He shook his head silently, pretending to be pondering whether or not to move his bishop, who was now cursing violently at him.

Kris was so beautiful, so wonderful, that it was unreal to Ste that they were such good friends. Ste figured that if they hadn't grown up together she wouldn't give him the time of day. But then again she might… you never could tell with Kris. She never ceased to amaze, yet another reason why he loved her. He glanced her way once again; he didn't notice Shane smirking at him until Shane cleared his throat loudly and his knight began to obliterate Ste's bishop.

"And what are you grinning at?" Ste asked heatedly.

"Oh, nothing," Shane replied innocently.

"Liar."

"Yeah," he sighed dramatically. "I guess I should probably tell you…"

"Tell me what?" Ste eyed him suspiciously.

Shane grinned evilly. "I know you're completely in love with Kris."

As smart as Shane was, Ste had definitely _not_ seen this coming. His gray eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets. "_You do_?"

"Well, _now_ I do," he replied. Ste felt like hitting his friend for outsmarting him so badly. "Thanks, mate," Shane continued. "Oh, and speaking of—" Shane's rook moved across the board. "Checkmate."

Ste felt as though he'd been slapped in the face. "I walked right into that, didn't I?"

"Sure did. But hey—I was bound to find out sooner or later. It's not that you're an idiot, it's that I'm just plain brilliant."

Ste glared at him. "Modest too," he muttered sarcastically.

Shane stretched his arms to either side of him and yawned hugely. "I can't believe I actually won that game, though. Y'know, you making googley eyes at my sister is _very_ distracting." Ste threw a pawn at him. "Jeez! That's the last time I try to have a friendly conversation with _you_…"

* * *

"It's such a beautiful name," said Skye. "I wonder why it's not more popular, you're the only Kali that I know of."

Kali scoffed. "You need to do more reading, young lady," she chastised jokingly. She laughed. "My parents have very… _interesting_ senses of humor. Kali is a warrior goddess, more specifically, the Hindu Goddess of Death."

Skye shivered. "Really?"

"Yes. But it's interesting—she's very… multi-dimensional, you might say."

Skye smiled impishly. "Like you?"

Kali chuckled. "Not exactly. She's a symbol of Mother Nature in her nurturing, creative, and devouring aspects. Some Christians have labeled her satanic on account of her destructive nature. I don't really have an opinion on the matter, but it's said that Kali killed only _demons_ for mankind's benefit, and was not a demon herself. She is both the birth and destruction of the world… Tantric worshippers of Kali faced her Curse, the terror of death, just as willingly as they accepted blessings from her. For those people, wisdom meant learning that no coin has only one side: as death can't exist without life, and life can't exist without death. So in a way she's the Goddess of Life too, because death is a part of life."

"But," Skye objected. "I always thought that life was the _opposite_ of death."

"No," she corrected. "_Birth_ is the opposite of death, because any creature who lives… dies." She smiled, somewhat wryly and recited. "_His Goddess, his loving Mother in time, who gives him birth and loves him in the flesh, also destroys him in the flesh. His image of Her is incomplete if he does not know Her as his tearer and devourer_."

"Creepy," Skye commented.

"My name is interesting in its own rite, though. The name itself means 'black', which is understandable considering Kali, the goddess, is in a state of inconceivable darkness, but it's derived from the Hindu word meaning 'time.'"

Kali noticed Skye's blank expression. Of course she didn't understand the irony of it, she didn't know about Elita...

"And Elita?" Skye asked curiously. "Does that have some special significance too?"

"Yes," Kali replied. "I like her name. It obviously is derived from the word 'elite.' It means 'the chosen one.'"

* * *

Harry watched as his owl, Horus, flew through the window and dropped the post in front of his plate.

"Hmm," Harry said, looking at the letter Horus had dropped on top of the _Daily Prophet_ which was addressed to 'the Potters.' "Do you know who this is from, love?"

Hermione looked up from across the table and took the letter. "I don't recognize the handwriting," she said. She opened the envelope carefully and began to read. "Huh."

"What is it?" Harry asked her in turn, noticing the peculiar expression on his wife's face.

"It's from Kali Rollins," Hermione replied, brow furrowed. "She's asking if we know if 'Professor Macarthur' is Skye Cooper's aunt. Is she talking about Rose Macarthur? …Wow," she said in a sort of hushed voice. "I haven't thought about her in ages. I'd almost forgotten she taught at Hogwarts before she joined the Order. We were never really that close, though, so I don't know much about her. _Is_ she Skye's aunt?"

"Yes," Harry replied soberly. "In a manner of speaking, at least. Rose was Aislinn Dearborn's half-sister. You remember Aislinn, don't you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied. "She joined the Order just a few years before we did." She sighed wistfully. "She was the sweetest person, sweet people like her don't deserve that kind of fate… Didn't you tell me she was an orphan?"

"Yeah. Aislinn was Caradoc Dearborn and Kellan Malfoy's daughter."

"_Malfoy_?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Uh-huh," Harry replied between bites of toast. "Kellan was Lucius Malfoy's sister. She was a Death Eater—big surprise—but Caradoc was oblivious to that. He married her anyway. And they had Aislinn. A few years later he found out what Kellan was and left her, taking Aislinn with him. He joined the Order soon after. Probably had a guilty conscience or something. He knew my parents, I'm pretty sure."

"Wasn't he killed?" Hermione asked curiously.

"He was lured into a trap and tortured, or so I hear. Kellan rescued him, though, at the last minute. Even though she was a Death Eater she still loved him and Aislinn."

Hermione made a derisive sound, Harry continued.

"But Caradoc was in a lot of pain, he died shortly thereafter. His body was never recovered. Voldemort was absolutely livid—Caradoc could have been an invaluable tool, he hadn't wanted him killed, and Kellan had disobeyed orders by interfering. He had Kellan killed, leaving Aislinn an orphan. She went, er—to live with her older cousin or something, I think. Tara or Tina—"

"But where does the half-sister come in?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"Oh, well, before Kellan and Caradoc married, Caradoc had an alleged affair with Finvarra Macarthur."

"Finvarra Macarthur," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I know that name from somewhere…"

"Yes, you would," Harry commented dryly, smirking. "She's a novelist. Reclusive type—lives—or lived in Scotland, not sure what's become of her. She was kind of quirky."

"Novelists tend to be," Hermione chuckled.

"Anyway, one day, probably about twenty-five years ago, Aislinn got a letter. It was from a woman, named Rose Macarthur, claiming she was Aislinn's half-sister, Finvarra and Caradoc's daughter."

Hermione snorted. "Sounds like a Muggle convenient store novel to me."

"Oh, Merlin, wait until you hear the end of it. Anyway, you can imagine how Aislinn was thrilled when she found out she supposedly had a sister. It would be sort of like me finding out that I had some long-lost sibling. They met up. I think they might have hit it off, but for some reason Rose had to leave, went to America I think. This happened right before she left Hogwarts at the end of our sixth year."

"Yes, I remember… she resigned… do you know why?"

"No idea. Rumor has it she moved to the States and eventually became secretary to their Minister of Magic. But, in the meantime, you know what happens."

"Aislinn married Dorian Cooper—that French wizard—and they had a baby—Skye," Hermione recited. "But Rose Macarthur moved back to England soon after Skye was born, didn't she? Joined the Order, right? It was like she knew what was going to happen. Raleigh had hurled that Killing Curse at Voldemort, and most people thought he had died. But Rose seemed to think differently. She came back and joined the Order."

"Yes, but she certainly didn't stay very long," said Harry sadly. "She happened to be in the very wrong place at the very wrong time. Bellatrix Lestrange came looking for Raleigh on her own vendetta, and Aislinn and Rose were with her at the time and so… " He lowered his head dejectedly. "Remus and I tracked down Finvarra Macarthur; we thought she had a right to know about her own daughter's passing. We found her, and she told us she doesn't have a daughter! Or any children for that matter!"

Hermione frowned. "But she had to have. Why would Rose lie about something like that?"

"I have no clue," Harry replied, stumped. "And if you ask me, I thought Aislinn and Rose looked a considerable amount alike. And Skye looks like the both of them too. That's a bit of a coincidence if Rose lied about her parentage."

Hermione looked at her husband questioningly. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Well," Harry replied. "It was confidential information at the time. Not quite sure why, but I'm sure it doesn't matter if I tell you now."

"Well, it's a load of bollocks anyway," Hermione said, annoyed. "Sounds like a crazy old lady to me. And writers, especially reclusive ones, are crazy enough to begin with. She was probably just losing her marbles." But something about Hermione's pensive expression told Harry that she did not entirely believe her own words.

He merely shrugged. "Maybe."


End file.
